beautiful
by Ikariae
Summary: He's the victim of a nightmarish tragedy, cursed by a vengeful witch until he regresses into feral insanity. She's the daughter of the village prostitute, abandoned by her father and raised to scorn love. Beauty and the Beast, Soul Eater style.
1. chapter 1

**beautiful**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I don't own Soul Eater, nor do I own Beauty and the Beast.

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><p>chapter 1<p>

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><p><em><strong>I.<strong>_

The clicking of heels echoed down the corridor, causing the snake to slither away quickly into the shadows cast by the torches lining the walls. Two women came into sight, one as tall and graceful as the other was short and squat.

"We could use it," said the taller one, gesturing angrily. "The combined power of the witches would be more than enough to control it."

The shorter witch ignored her, shifting something beneath the many folds of her dark cloak. The pair turned a corner, disappearing from sight, and the snake emerged from its hiding spot. After pausing briefly, it slithered after the two witches.

They arrived at the entrance of a circular chamber. In the center of the room stood a large pedestal, upon which rested a bowl of dark liquid. While her companion looked on, making no move to help, the short witch stretched up and took the bowl into her hands. She dipped her hand into the bowl and drew it out. Crimson liquid stained the tips of her fingers. With great care, she bent down and began tracing runes on the stone floor.

"Think of the possibilities," said the tall witch. She tapped her dark nails impatiently against her arm. "Creating a true kishin without having to sacrifice one hundred souls? Think of what that means!"

Her words went unheeded as the runes continued to spiral out from the stone pillar.

"Your problem, Mother, is that you've become scared," she continued. "The other owners were too weak to control the book. Times are changing, and you don't remember what it's like to be powerful. You've gotten old." The older witch turned slowly and glanced at her younger companion. The latter pursed her lips and looked away sullenly. "Well, I still think you're making a mistake, and I'm not the only one who thinks so."

The floor was now covered with intricate script. Setting the bowl aside, the Witch Mother drew a heavy book from the inside of her cloak. Its leather cover was worn and dusty, its pages yellowed with age, but the younger witch's eyes widened in awe. The book was placed on the pedestal, and the Witch Mother began chanting in a low voice. The runes began glowing, bathing the room in an eerie red light.

_CRASH!_

One of the windows exploded, sending a spray of colored glass across the floor. Both witches jerked around in surprise. A figure leapt through the jagged hole, landing nimbly, and seized the book. Before either of the two could move, the culprit had escaped.

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><p>Spirit Albarn was a true mercenary. He would do anything for anyone, as long as they paid the right price. He'd worked for gangs, murderers, thieves, and once even a mad scientist. <em>That<em> hadn't been fun. Spirit still wasn't entirely certain whether or not he had two kidneys.

But never before had he worked for a witch, and as he ran away from the stone tower with the requested book tucked safely inside his knapsack, he wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

_Maybe I'll retire after this job_. _Settle down, start a family. _He paused briefly to catch his breath. His client had assured him that the Witch Mother was too old to catch him, and once he'd traveled at least two miles from the isolated tower, he'd be relatively safe. Spirit was still a few miles from the rendezvous point, but there was a village close by he could hide in if need be. He adjusted his pack and renewed his flight once again.

When he reached the meeting place, he found his client waiting for him, scowling in annoyance.

"You took your sweet time."

"Not all of us can fly on broomsticks," he shot back.

She snorted and stretched out her hand. "Give me the book."

"Not till I see my money first, sweetheart," he said, stepping back.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

Spirit took another step back, but kept his eyes trained on her face. "I know exactly who I'm dealing with. Give me the money first," he repeated.

"I could just kill you right now, take the book, _and _keep my money," she sneered, but she withdrew a large bag from her cloak and tossed it at his feet. Spirit picked up the bag and tested its weight in his palm. One hundred gold pieces. His biggest payment by far, and he wasn't even sure it had been worth the trouble.

Stowing the bag in his pack, he took out the book. For the first time, Spirit took a good look at what he'd stolen.

What he saw nearly made his heart stop.

At first glance, the book was extraordinarily underwhelming, especially considering the trouble it had caused. It looked as though it was going to fall apart any minute, and judging by the gnawed spine, Spirit suspected that it had been the proud possession of a mouse at some point. But upon closer examination, one could make out the curling script inked in faded gold on the cover.

_Eibon_.

The sharp sound of a finger snap tore him out of his reverie.

"What's wrong? You have your money, now give me my book."

Spirit hesitated. "This…this is the Book of Eibon."

The woman rolled her eyes. "_Yes_, thank you, I am aware. That's why I had you steal it for me."

"Why didn't you just take it?"

"Oh, _that_ wouldn't have looked suspicious at all." She thrust out her hand imperiously. "Stop dawdling and hand it over."

Spirit was caught in a moral dilemma, something that he was rarely troubled with. On the one hand, it would be easier for him to hand over the book and escape with his one hundred gold pieces. He could live easily for the rest of his life, spending his money on women and alcohol.

On the other hand, he really didn't want to be the sole reason for the end of the world. That was a lot to carry on your shoulders, even for a cold-hearted mercenary like him.

He made a snap decision. Clutching the book, he straightened up and said, "No."

The woman frowned. "_Excuse _me?"

"You heard me." And with that, he ran.

He had the advantage of surprise, though it only gained him a split-second head start. Once she realized what he'd done, she moved like lightning. A flash of white shot past his shoulder, narrowly missing his head. He could hear trees creaking as something huge lumbered after him. The air was filled with a horrible screeching sound, accompanied by an ominous clicking.

Fortunately for him, she was out of her element. The woods were too dense for her to properly track him down, and the darkness further served as cover. Spirit wove his way through the trees, turning sharply at random points in an attempt to throw off whatever awful creatures were chasing after him. The sounds began to fade, though he knew she wouldn't be shaken so easily. He only had a little time left. Drawing upon his last reserves of energy, Spirit burst through the woods and onto a beaten trail. A wooden post proclaimed 'DEATH VILLAGE' in thick black letters.

The streets were silent. All of the sleeping inhabitants of the village remained blissfully unaware of the danger they were in. As he neared the center of the town, Spirit's mind raced furiously. He didn't have time to properly get rid of the book – he would have to hide it. But where exactly did one hide an ancient spellbook? He glanced around his surroundings, hoping for inspiration. A sign caught his eye and he smiled grimly.

He started forward and failed to see the person walking out from the building in his haste. The person went down and he stumbled, cursing.

"Spirit?"

It was a woman's voice. She picked herself off the ground and pushed back ashy blonde hair away from her face. Blue eyes stared at him disbelievingly, but his attention was drawn to the curving swell of her stomach.

He groaned inwardly. This was so not his day. "Kami. You're looking…pregnant."

Did he really just say that? Mentally cursing, he tried to think of a way to end this conversation tactfully.

Anger began creeping in her pretty features. "Where have you been? You said you were going to run an errand and you never came back."

Spirit sighed. As far as old flames went, Kami had been the longest and most memorable. But the wanderlust had taken him eventually, and he'd left her too.

He tried to come up with an excuse, but she seized the front of his shirt.

"I'm six months pregnant, you bastard," she hissed.

He dragged a hand through his hair. He was running out of time, and Kami would be in danger if he didn't leave quickly. There was no easy way out of this situation. Gently, he took her hands and pried the fingers loose from his shirt. Bending down swiftly, he picked up a stone from the ground.

"I'm really sorry about this, Kami."

"What are you – " Her eyes rolled up and she collapsed against his chest with a soft _oh!_ He dropped the rock. She would have a sizable lump on the back of her head when she woke up, but it was a better fate than she would have suffered otherwise. Gently, Spirit picked her up and carried her inside the nearest building. He kissed her forehead once and set her down on the floor before darting back outside. Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, he secured the book in its hiding spot. It was completely incongruous with its surroundings. Nobody would suspect a thing.

Pausing a brief second to congratulate himself, Spirit ran back along the same path he'd used to enter the village. Hopefully he'd be able to draw out his pursuer and lead her away from the village.

His wish was granted quickly. Spirit had just barely gone ten minutes from the entrance of the town before something slammed into his side and sent him flying into a tree. A rope-like substance was slapped against his body, binding him to the trunk. He cursed and right arm shimmered before morphing into a gleaming black scythe blade. In vain, Spirit hacked away at his bindings, but the rope was unusually sticky, catching on the blade and rendering it useless.

"So. You thought you could cheat me." He didn't reply, instead struggling against the ropes.

She stepped in close until their faces were inches apart. "I'll give you one last chance to give me the book."

Spirit gestured at his arms with a nod of his head. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I can't really move my hands right now."

Her eyes narrowed. "You dare mock me?"

"Just pointing out the facts," he shrugged.

"Give me the book!"

"I don't have it."

She froze. "What do you mean, you don't have it?"

Spirit met her dark eyes squarely with his own green ones. "I don't have the book," he repeated. "I destroyed it."

"You lie!" Her eyes blazed with anger, but he could sense the uncertainty in her voice.

"If that's what you like," he said. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and her face went pale with rage.

There comes a time when an animal about to be slaughtered goes still and ceases its struggling. It is as though it knows death is inevitable and fighting is futile. It has accepted its fate.

Spirit saw something dark and sharp flash towards his throat, and his last thought was whether the child in Kami's womb was a boy or a girl.

He hoped it was a girl, and that she would grow up to be as beautiful as her mother.

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><p><em><strong>II.<strong>_

Medusa remembers the first time she heard his music.

She can't recall the name of the piece he played, but it doesn't matter. She remembers sitting in the concert hall, her skin crawling with excitement as she wonders if his hair really is the harsh white of freshly fallen snow and his eyes the icy blue of a winter's day. She remembers forcing herself to idly flip through the concert program, tuning out the noise of the preconcert chatter and trying to calm the hundreds of snakes writhing excitedly in her body.

From the outside, she is the very picture of aristocratic elegance, dressed in a glittering black snakeskin dress, and her hair elegantly twisted above her head. She is stunning, and she knows it.

She remembers stiffening in her seat as the concertmaster walks onstage and tunes the orchestra. She remembers biting her bottom lip in anticipation when the conductor appears, until a ruby red jewel of blood seeps out and her forked tongue quickly catches it. She leans forward, her stomach taut with impatience, and the snakes inside of her hiss for some kind of release, but she forces them to be still. Her hands grip the armrests of the seat so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

The audience begins clapping.

He walks to the center of the stage, cradling his instrument, where a spotlight is fixed to shine down on him. He is completely at ease as he greets the audience with a lazy smile and takes a small bow.

She remembers feeling lightheaded and forgetting how to breathe.

He adjusts the shoulder rest and tucks his violin under his chin. He glances at the conductor, who nods and starts the orchestra, and she remembers feeling a burst of hot jealousy at their brief, unspoken connection. But when he sets his bow on the strings and draws, the fury melts away and the rich, resounding chords captivate her. She is a mouse trapped by the mesmerizing snake, and she can only sink further and further into delicious paralysis as the brilliant runs and warm vibrato pull her in deeper. He plays with absolute freedom of spirit but still maintains flawless technique.

It's beautiful. She's never heard anything more beautiful in her entire life. But it could so much better. She will make it more enthralling and fill him with something that will make him truly brilliant.

Aren't the greatest of all musicians insane?

When the concert is over, she slips out of her seat and into the shadows. Nobody notices the small black snake slither its way backstage.

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><p>The critics were left scratching their heads. Despite his hordes of fans and his family's high social standing, Wes Evans had always brushed off any mention of a romantic relationship with a lighthearted chuckle.<p>

"My violin will always be my one true love," he'd laugh.

Odd, they said. The famous bachelor Wes Evans had suddenly announced his engagement to an unknown woman from a foreign family.

It was almost as though he'd been bewitched.

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><p><em><strong>III.<strong>_

The sun was just beginning to creep in through the window when he woke up. Yawning, he threw back the covers of the thick, downy comforter and reached up to rub his eyes. No sooner had his hand touched his face when a hot flash of pain jolted from his shoulder all the way to the tips of his fingers.

The little boy let out a sharp gasp, doubling over and clutching his right arm. He clenched his teeth and waited for the pain to disappear. Gingerly, he examined both of his arms. There was nothing physically wrong with them, but lately, he was constantly experiencing hot flashes with increasing frequency. It was as though knives were embedded inside of his arms, splintering bone as they tried to force their way up through the his skin.

The boy sighed in frustration. He'd once mentioned the pain to his parents, and they had grudgingly taken him to see a private physician. The doctor had pronounced him to be perfectly healthy and had prescribed some painkillers. Annoyed, they'd told him to stop making up excuses to slack off practicing.

When at last the pain completely faded away, he slipped out of bed. The grandfather clock in the hall told him that he still had a few hours left, so he quietly padded downstairs.

His two favorite haunts were the kitchen and the garden. Compared to the rest of the large mansion, the kitchen was relatively small and cozy. The head chef was adamant in keeping the workspace pristine and orderly, going so far as to organize all the utensils and appliances symmetrically. Privately, Soul thought that the chef had a bit of a neurotic disorder, especially when he broke down in hysterical tears if a maid accidentally put a spoon in the fork drawer. Yet despite his odd behavior, the sixteen-year old Kid was well known for his exquisite dishes – he had graduated from the prestigious Shibusen Culinary Institute with the highest marks in the school's history.

The young boy entered the kitchen, scanning the room. There were already a few servants bustling about, but not the ones he was looking for.

A large butcher knife flashed in his face. He let out a squeak of surprise and tripped backwards, landing smartly on his rear.

Patti giggled, expertly tossing the knife and catching it by the handle. She shoved the meat cleaver back into her belt and extended a hand to help him up.

"Heya, Soul! Why the long face?"

Patti Thompson and her older sister, Liz, had materialized on the doorstep of the Evans' household looking for work one evening. Kid had taken the two in, and they soon proved their worth out of desperation to keep a roof over their heads. Patti was only seven, a year younger than Soul, but she was one of the family's best servants, and her sister Liz had quickly ascended to the position of head maid.

Patti's bright blue eyes regarded Soul's red ones critically. "It's your arms again, isn't it?"

He nodded in response, running a hand through his disheveled white hair.

"Which one?"

"My right one."

Her eyes narrowed and she was about to reply when a frying pan came out of nowhere and clocked her on the head.

"_Get to work!"_ hissed Liz, lifting the frying pan above her head again.

Soul cowered, but Patti merely smiled and nodded, waving to Soul as she flounced off with her sister. Not wanting to get in the way of the servants' work, Soul left to go outside.

The two sisters gazed at the figure walking across the gardens through the kitchen window. Patti's face was pressed against the glass, and Liz had her arms crossed across her chest as she watched the small boy.

"Is it his arms?" Liz asked her younger sister.

"Yeah. I think it's gonna happen real soon. You think we should tell him?"

Liz shook her head. "There's no point. He wouldn't believe us, and if people found out about us, we'd be kicked out and living on the streets again."

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><p>Soul wandered along the smooth, stone paved path surrounding the house. He was headed for the gardener's cottage, where White*Star and his son, Black*Star, lived.<p>

The huge estate was set deep in the woods and isolated from any surrounding cities. Very few people knew of its existence. It was built entirely from massive blocks of smooth white stone, and its proud spires seemed to poke the clouds. Large stained glass windows reflected the sun and scattered the light like jeweled drops of rain. Mythical creatures were carved into the soaring arches, giving the mansion an ethereal appearance. While the woods surrounding the manor were harsh and unforgiving, the gardens were beautiful and well kept. In the spring, the flowers blossomed and filled the air with their lush fragrance.

Now that it was winter, snow dusted the plants and White*Star kept to himself in the cottage, nursing his alcohol. Soul trudged through the snowdrifts until he arrived at the gardener's quaint lodgings. As he lifted a hand to knock on the wooden door, a snowball smacked him in the head.

"Wha – " he sputtered, whirling around, only to have a second snowball crash into his face. Blinking his ruby eyes furiously, he spat out bits of snow and looked around for the culprit.

Short, ridiculously blue haired, and cocky, his best friend Black*Star stood facing him, already armed with another snowball.

"SOUL! PREPARE TO MEET YOUR DOOM!" He cocked his arm, but Soul darted forward and tackled him to the ground. Black*Star coughed as the air was knocked from him, but he quickly flipped over and grabbed Soul in a headlock. Soul squirmed, trying to escape the iron grip, but Black*Star unexpectedly released him.

"Wait! My camellias!" The blue haired boy darted away, fight completely forgotten, and gently picked up a large flowerpot sitting nearby. He carried it away a safe distance and set it on an undisturbed patch of snow before charging back to tackle Soul with renewed gusto. The two boys continued their intense struggle before calling a truce.

"You up for a snowball fight? Or we could build a fort or a snowman or something," said Black*Star as he retrieved his flowerpot.

"Maybe later. What's up with the flowers?" asked Soul. The bright pink blossoms seemed out of place in the wintery landscape. "They're probably gonna freeze."

Black*Star laughed. "These are camellias – they bloom in the winter. I was going to plant them right outside the cottage. Don't worry, I wouldn't expect a moron like you to know as much about plants as someone awesome like me." He squinted at his friend thoughtfully. "Hey, shouldn't you be going now?"

Soul blanched. "You're right! I'll see you later, okay?" He spun around quickly and hustled along the path to the mansion. The large double doors banged against the wall as he burst through. He skidded into the practice room, out of breath.

Wes was unpacking his instrument and turned around when he heard Soul come in. He smiled broadly.

"Hey, little guy. Looks like someone's been enjoying the snow."

An icy voice spoke up from the back of the room. "I hope you didn't get your hands cold. You've already wasted enough time as it is."

Wes rolled his eyes, but Soul shook his head. "They're okay, Father." He adjusted the piano bench and ran through a few scales while Wes rosined the bow hair.

The older Evans winked at his younger brother. "Ready when you are, kiddo."

Soul, fingers already set on the keys, launched into the beginning of the piece and immediately knew something was wrong. His arms and hands felt unbelievably heavy, as though someone had replaced his bones with lead. The tempo started lagging, and his father began snapping his fingers, clearly irritated. Soul tried to move his fingers faster, but with little success. His brother eyed him with concern and was about to say something when Soul let out a sharp cry and crumpled off the piano bench.

His right arm was on fire. His left arm still felt heavy and cumbersome, but the unfamiliar weight was lost in the face of the fire searing his right arm. Soul envisioned hundreds and hundreds of tiny ants swarming just underneath his skin, eating their way out, tearing through his flesh. Hot coals pressed against his arm and fingers, burning and charring the limb all the way to the bone. He could vaguely make out his father shouting at him. Something about _'pretending_' and '_lazy_.'

Lazy? Soul may have been a lot of things, but he was _not_ lazy. He spent just as much as time Wes did, if not more, practicing. Couldn't his parents see that? And yet, here was his father yelling at him while he was curled up on the floor, crippled with agonizing pain.

His head began pounding. His father's voice seemed to grow louder and louder, echoing in his head, and finally he screwed his eyes shut and screamed, "_Stop it!_" Despite his arm, Soul sprang up and barged through the doors. He charged forward blindly, stumbling over bushes.

Black*Star was still outside, rolling the base of a snowman, when he saw his friend dash past him. "Hey!" he called, but the other boy ignored him, trying to run away. Run away from his father, run away from the hurt in his arm, run away from Wes.

But Wes had caught up quickly, his longer legs easily outpacing those of his brother.

"Soul," he called. The child had curled into the fetal position, rocking back and forth. Wes reached a hand towards him. "Soul," he repeated, "Are you –"

"Don't touch me!" shouted the boy furiously, hating the pity in his brother's voice. He lashed out to hit his brother's hand away, and all of a sudden there was a splash of bright crimson and a horribly wet choke of surprise.

"W-Wes," Soul stammered, eyes wide with fright. His gaze darted to the scarlet stream flowing from the deep, vertical gash that extended from his brother's throat to the top of his chest, then skittered to his shoulder. Where his arm had once been was now a wickedly dark blade, drenched with blood.

"…Soul?"

The crimson snow was quickly turning into a horrific slush. With a small shudder, Wes collapsed on the ground.

With difficulty, Soul lifted his heavy left arm and shook the still form of his brother, staining his hand with bright liquid. "Wes, Wes, wake up, _please_!"

Someone screamed. Soul whipped around to see Medusa Gorgon, Wes's fiancée, staring at him in horror.

"What have you done?" she shrieked. "You've murdered him!"

He flinched, but could not bring himself to say anything. Medusa shoved him aside and slumped over her lover, wailing. She carded her fingers through matted white hair. Suddenly, her head snapped up and her blazing golden eyes met his red ones.

"Do you have any idea what you've done? _Do you_? I have waited _years_. Years of hard work and research, gone! He was going to be mine and you_ –_" But she cut off suddenly. Her face went curiously blank, and then a sly smile began to spread across her face.

"…_you_," she breathed. "You'll do just fine." Medusa seized his arm and yanked him closer.

Witches didn't have Soul Perception, but the more powerful ones could utilize a variant which allowed them to observe the nuances and character of a human's soul. This particular specimen was already deformed, having suffered through years of neglect. Already, it was convulsing, trying to bear the guilt of murder.

A knife flashed. Soul flinched, but the blade sliced through Medusa's arm. Her blood, unlike the crimson blossoming on the snow, was a dark and tarlike substance. Medusa dropped the knife and clutched her arm, forcing the thick black liquid to flow out. It dripped down her hand to pool on the ground and began bubbling until it formed a crude arrow. She lifted her arm and the arrow mimicked her movement. Before Soul could even open his mouth to scream, the arrow had speared him through the chest.

The sticky black mess writhed as the boy's body absorbed it. Within seconds, it had completely disappeared, leaving no trace of a wound behind. It wasn't complete yet. But it would be, fermenting inside this new vessel tortured with guilt.

Medusa seized the Soul by his hair. "Remember this. You belong to _me_. _My _blood runs in your veins. I made you, and you are my creature."

He coughed and black droplets splashed onto his palm. "What did you do to me?"

"What did I do? What have _you_ done? You've slaughtered your own brother. You're not even human." She patted his cheek. "Don't look so upset. I'm not completely heartless. You can purify the black blood if you find true love by your twenty-first year."

She was lying, of course. She was not so stupid as to let foolish sentiments get in the way of her witchcraft. The Black Blood was flawless and unstoppable, true love or no; by the end of thirteen years, it would completely overtake his soul and the length of time was a small price to pay for a true masterpiece.

Medusa sneered. Hope was such an ugly thing when it could be snatched away at any minute.

The boy stared at her and she kissed his forehead. "I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. You're a murderer and a freak."

She could already see the faint inky swirls of Black Blood blotting the glowing blue of his soul. Amidst the bright crimson and inky black patches of snow, Medusa stretched her lips in a grotesque mimicry of a smile and laughed. She'd never seen anything so beautiful.

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><p>Over time, lost travelers who chanced upon the crumbling mansion shied away from it, warned off by the eerie music which could be heard from within the heart of the estate. They returned to their families, telling stories about the ghost of a pianist who haunted the castle playing discordant melodies filled with madness.<p>

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><p><strong>AN: **Much love and thanks to my amazing beta, **Shenzuul**. If you haven't read her stories yet, go check them out now! Her writing is fifty times better than mine :D

Here are the ages of everyone (including after the timeskip, which occurs in the next chapter).

Soul – 8/21

Maka – 6/19

Black*Star – 8/21

Kid – 16/29

Liz – 15/28

Patti – 7/20

Wes – 17

I've never done a multi-chaptered story before. All of my other stories are one-shots or a collection of one-shots, so please bear with me! Reviews would be very nice – feedback and critique is always so helpful.

~ Paper

P.S. Have you guys read any good books lately? I've exhausted my supply of reading and need to make a trip to the library soon, but I'm always curious as to what others are reading.

**Update (July 2013): If you are a returning reader **(meaning you were around for the horrendous original version of this chapter), would you mind telling me what you think of this newer version? I'd appreciate it ever so much. Thanks!


	2. chapter 2

chapter 2

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><p>"<em>Mama," she asked, tugging at her mother's skirts. "What's a whore?"<em>

_The woman froze and the rusty pot in her hand clattered onto the ground. She turned slowly and bent down to face her daughter, who had turned back to the picture she was absentmindedly drawing on the dirt floor._

"_Honey, where did you hear that word?"_

_The little girl's bright green eyes flickered uncertainly from the floor to her mother's face. Mama seemed nervous. "Someone called me a bastard at the market today. They said I would grow up to be a whore like my mama." Her eyes dropped from her mother's pale face as she continued to sketch in the dirt. "It's a good thing, right? I want to be_ just_ like you when I grow up."_

_The mother's hands shook as she slowly picked up the pot. Her mind scrambled in search of something to say, but her throat was dry and her voice had disappeared._

"_Mama." The girl spoke up again, the toddler already switching tracks. "How come I don't have a papa like everyone else does?"_

_This time, the woman was able to keep a firm grip on the pot as she looked directly at her daughter. Her cold blue eyes were unwavering, and her voice didn't shake in the slightest. "Maka. You must always, always, _always,_ remember this. You cannot trust men. They will pretend to love you, they will shower you with pretty words and gifts, and then they'll leave you and you'll be left with nothing. Absolutely nothing. You don't need a papa, Maka darling, and you don't need men. Remember that."_

_The young girl looked sadly at her completed picture. Three wobbly stick figures smiled happily back at her – a man, a woman, and a little girl. Forlornly, she brushed dirt across the man, erasing him forever from the family._

"_Yes, Mama."_

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><p>Maka and Kami lived in the slums on the outskirts of the village. Death Village was arranged in rings so that the wealthiest people lived in the center. The farther away from the center of the city people lived, the poorer they were. Beyond the slums, a huge forest that was rumored to be filled with beasts and monsters stretched on for miles and miles. Although the people of Death Village feared the forest and what it may or may not have contained, they were also thankful for it, as it was an impenetrable defense that encircled their town.<p>

Maka remembers the day she stopped being a child.

She and her mother had always been very close. Perhaps it was because her mother's profession forced Maka to be more understanding and open to the harsh realities of the world. She'd grown up so quickly that she and Kami sometimes felt more like sisters than mother and daughter.

When Maka was ten, her mother told her to go outside their small, ramshackle cottage and play for a few hours, because she was going to take a nap and didn't want Maka to bother her. Obediently, Maka headed out the door, clutching her ragged straw dolls – her most prized possessions. Kami had made them for her fifth birthday, painting on eyes and lips with her special jars of kohl and rouge, the only luxury items that the family of two owned.

"…The prince lifted up the princess and twirled her around and they lived happily ever after." Maka giggled as she made her two dolls waltz together on the dusty path leading to the front of the cottage. Kami sometimes told her fairytales at bedtime, and with each one, Maka's eyes would grow a little larger and brighter. Kami spun fantastical stories of princes and princesses, of gods and goddesses, and sometimes, when Maka was feeling especially brave, stories of demons and witches and people who could transform into killing machines.

Lost in her wild fantasies, Maka didn't notice the man walking up to the cottage until he was right in front of her. She looked up and saw the slightly nervous face of the village butcher. She had never really liked the man. He smelled bad and his apron was always covered in the blood of slaughtered animals. His small, dark eyes always had a shifty feel to them, constantly darting around from place to place, that reminded Maka of rats.

The butcher walked up to her with a smile pasted on his face, obviously attempting to look friendly.

"Mary, is your mother home?" He loomed over her, a large package in his hand. The bottom of the package dripped a dark liquid. "I've brought a present for her."

Maka wrinkled her nose in disgust. "My name is Maka. And my mama's inside, but you can't come in because she's sleeping and you'll wake her up."

The butcher's smile widened into a leer. "Well, I'll just drop off this package and have a little chat with her. I won't bother her too long, and she can go back to her nap after I'm done." He pushed past the little girl and walked inside. After some hesitation, she followed after him, padding towards the large curtain which separated the bedroom from the rest of the cottage. Maka frowned. She could hear arguing voices behind it.

"I _told _you to come through the back!" Kami's voice sounded distressed. "I don't want Maka to –"

The butcher cut her mother off. "Calm down, she's still outside playing with her dolls. Now hurry up, my wife will be back in a few hours."

"Oh dear, we wouldn't want her to find out, now would we?" came Kami's sarcastic response.

Maka's heart pounded uneasily in her chest as she listened to the conversation. She didn't like the way the butcher was talking to her mama, but what really bothered her was the harshness of Kami's voice. Kami never spoke like that at home. Her mama's voice was always sweet and lilting, like she was singing. Something felt terribly wrong. Maka wiped her sweaty palms on her smock and carefully pulled back the curtain a fraction of an inch to peer inside.

Her eyes widened. Stumbling backwards, she clenched her eyes shut and ran outside, hands clamped firmly over her mouth lest she make a noise. Maka huddled in a ball, pressing her face against her knees and trying desperately to erase the images from her eyes.

Hot and prickly guilt coursed through her and Maka felt _dirty. _Unclean. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, but she felt like she'd crossed a border that she couldn't go back over. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Something caught her eye, and Maka looked around to see her two dolls sprawled on top of each other where she'd carelessly tossed them aside. Disgusted, she kicked the two dolls apart and glared at them. The painted faces which had once been charming now seemed ghastly.

A little while later, the butcher came back outside. Maka avoided looking at him but she heard him, say as he left, "Have a good dinner, Margaret. I think you'll enjoy it."

That night was the first time she and her mama had meat for dinner. Kami cooked it in a stew, and the smell made Maka's mouth water. But when Kami poured it into her clay bowl, Maka turned away.

"Don't you want it? We won't be able to eat this kind of food again anytime soon," her mama said, concerned.

"I'm not hungry."

She left the table to retrieve her two dolls. She tossed them into the fireplace and watched their faces melt off before they burst into flame. When she turned to face her mother, she could see a desperate sort of helplessness in her mother's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Maka."

The little girl turned away, crying, and missed the tears trailing down her mama's face, too.

* * *

><p>Maka changed a great deal after that day.<p>

No longer did the little girl dreaming of stories with mystical creatures and fairytales with princes who swept princesses up in their arms, stories of true love and magic. She became reclusive, quiet and serious, and her green eyes contained a bitter wisdom that did not match her young age. As soon as she was old enough, Maka headed to the village and landed herself a job working for Jocasta, the wizened owner of the village bookstore. The old woman felt pity for the ragged child, and allowed her to work during the day organizing the books and sweeping the floor. In return, Maka was given a few copper coins which she took to the market to buy food and essential supplies for her mama.

But what Maka valued most about her job at the bookstore was not the money she earned, but the knowledge she gained from it. Access to a vast supply of books gave her the opportunity to attain something she had always dreamed of but never could afford – education. When Maka had finished her duty for the day (as quickly as possible without doing a poor job) she pored over volume after volume, learning about everything from geography to sciences, philosophy to mathematics. Although she had been completely illiterate when she'd first met Jocasta, Maka learned quickly and taught herself to read within a year.

Only on her birthdays would Maka allow herself to read fairytales. In some part of her mind lingered the little girl who dreamed of living in castles and dancing in grand ballrooms.

Kami and Maka reached an unspoken agreement. Something had broken between them on that day. While Maka was away in the village, working at the bookstore, Kami did her best to get through as many clients as possible before Maka got back.

Her mother was getting older, and Maka could see it. With age came a weariness that she hadn't noticed in her mother before, giving her a more haggard appearance. Creases lined her face, and gray streaked her honey-blonde hair. Kami was getting tired, and it seemed to Maka that her mama was giving up. She grew ever more listless, and her conversations with her daughter were mundane and bland.

But just as Kami was getting older, Maka was steadily approaching her prime. It became easier and easier to see the differences between the two women. Kami's once-bright eyes had dulled to a glassy, pale blue, but Maka's sparked like the fire in cut emeralds. Nobody was more aware of these changes than the younger woman, and she had taken to tying her hair in pigtails to emphasize her childlike appearance. Although her body had changed, Maka's diminutive size and stature were blessings, in her eyes. She secretly feared that her mother's regulars would begin looking to her as a replacement for her mother.

Yet no matter how much she tried hide her growing charm, to appear stubborn and crude, it was impossible to completely mask her beauty. One day, a man stayed longer than Kami had expected and Maka overheard a conversation between the two.

"_Your daughter looks like she's all grown up now. Pretty little thing, isn't she? And fiery, too, from what I've heard. I saw what she did to Giriko the other day. They're nice when they've got some fight in them."_

_Silence. Then –_

"_Just wait until she's eighteen," came her mother's voice. "Her birthday's in a few months. At least wait until she's eighteen."_

Maka didn't know, didn't want to know, what those words meant. She decided to trust her mama and shoved the words to the back of her mind, buried in her subconscious.

A couple of months later, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, Kami sat on her bed and kissed her on the forehead. She searched her daughter's eyes, her own filled with some kind of immeasurable grief that Maka would only come to appreciate later. Kami stroked her daughter's ashy blonde hair and pulled her in for a hug.

"Maka, darling, I love you," she whispered.

Maka didn't really know what was going on, but she patted her mother on the back and returned the smile, saying, "I love you too, Mama."

It was the last time those words would slip from her lips. Maka felt hot tears drip onto her shoulder and soak through her worn shirt, but said nothing. Finally, Kami let her go, sadly searching her brilliant emerald eyes once more, before at last blowing out the candle.

When Maka awoke the next morning, Kami was gone. She never saw her mama again.

Maka didn't really blame her mother for leaving, but she couldn't forgive Kami's cowardice and betrayal. When Kami left, she took Maka's last hopes for _love _and _family _with her. She had long since learned not to put her faith in men, but she'd always had faith in her mother, always believed that her mother, at least, would be there to support her. When Kami left, Maka shelved her emotions and promised herself never to let anyone get too close to her again.

In her departure, though, Kami had left behind an unintentional gift. With only herself to support now, and with food being supplied by Jocasta, Maka was able to use her meager earnings and to make improvements around the cottage. She saved enough to re-thatch the roof of the cottage and strengthen the walls. She turned out all of her mother's guests, encouraging the more obstinate with a skillfully wielded broom, and eventually settled into a dreary lifestyle.

* * *

><p>There came a day, a few months after Kami's departure when she saw a strange procession in front of her house as she left the cottage in the morning to go to the bookstore. Men and women, dressed in long flowing robes of silk embroidered with colorful dragons and flowers walked down the dusty path. Their hair was inky black and their eyes were dark and almond-shaped. Maka had never seen people like them before. They smiled pleasantly at her, seemingly undisturbed by the dirt staining the hem of their beautiful garments. One of the women stood out to her, a girl about her age. She had cobalt blue eyes and was laughing cheerfully with a man who could have been her older brother. Her hair was tied up high, and she leaned in to whisper something conspiratorially to her brother. The girl caught Maka's eyes and smiled warmly at her as she passed. Her smile was genuine and sincere, and as Maka left to head towards the center of the village, she couldn't but help feel a little happier that day. When she arrived at the bookstore, she told Jocasta about what she'd seen.<p>

"Oh, that must be the Nakatsukasa family," replied the elderly woman, peering at her young protégé (for Maka had long since become almost like a granddaughter to the old owner) over the rims over her spectacles. "They come from a faraway country, and it's rumored they traveled across many seas and oceans to arrive at Death Village."

"Nakatsukasa. Nakatsukasa," murmured the girl, enjoying the way the name rolled off her tongue. "Why have they come here, of all places?"

Jocasta shrugged. "Everything passes through Death Village at least once," she said cryptically. "In fact –" The woman suddenly cut off and began coughing violently, wheezing until she was out of breath and clung to Maka's shoulder for support.

Maka looked at the elder with concern. "Are you okay? It seemed worse this time."

"I'm fine. Just a few stomach pains now and then, and coughing when I least expect it. Don't worry. Be a dear and fetch me some water and the bottle of tonic, won't you?"

When she was sure Maka was gone, Jocasta doubled over and clutched her side, wincing in pain. When the cramps subsided, the old bookstore owner sighed and polished her spectacles on her dress. The bottle of medicine the traveling healer had prescribed appeared to have been working for a while.

"Just take a spoonful of this every day, and your pains should go away," the healer had assured her in a high, musical voice. Her slanted golden eyes twinkled. "You can mix it with a drink, if you like. It tastes just like honey."

But the pains had been getting worse, and Jocasta wasn't sure how long she had left.

* * *

><p>The girl didn't cross Maka's mind again after that day until a month later. She had been on her way back home from work late at night, and her eyes were half closed with fatigue. It was dark and hard to see, but just as she paused at the threshold of her cottage, she felt a presence nearby. She hadn't seen anything, but there was almost a magnetic pull in her stomach and when she'd blinked, she'd seen a flash of…of <em>something <em>in her mind. Whipping her head around, she saw nothing. Cautiously, Maka turned around in a complete circle, still not seeing anything and yet continuing to experience that tugging sensation which was growing fainter. It was as though someone had tied a rope around her stomach and was leading her into the woods. After a moment's hesitation, she darted in the direction of the tugging.

Maka was scared. She'd never been in the woods before. The rumors circulated by the villagers held weight, and there was always the occasional traveler that managed to fight their way through the woods from a distant town. Their eyes were large with fright as they told stories of vengeful ghosts and spirits that haunted the forest, how they'd heard sounds of mad laughter and haunting melodies that inexplicably rang through the trees.

It was pitch black now. She may as well have closed her eyes. Doing so out of curiosity, she saw another flash that made her eyes snap open and the flash disappear. Confused, she closed her eyes again and found that if she focused, she could make out an oddly spherical shape. What was most strange was that she could still see the outline of the trees and her surroundings, if not better than if she'd had her eyes opened.

She took a few steps in the direction of the sphere, opened her eyes, and let out a small gasp which she quickly muffled with her hand. There was a person in front of her, perhaps several meters away, though the person didn't seem to have noticed her. The figure was tall and slim and seemed to be dancing fluidly, twisting and leaping in the air. When Maka peered closer, hiding behind a tree, she saw that the person was not actually dancing but performing some sort of intricate martial art.

Suddenly the girl stopped and walked several steps backwards until she was almost right in front of Maka's tree. With a deep breath, the person (and Maka could now see that the person was in fact a tall girl) ran forward and leaped. There was a puff of smoke, and from the smoke hurtled a large iron star which buried itself into a tree trunk. After the smoke cleared, Maka looked around curiously, in search of the girl, but there was no sight of her. Suddenly, there was another puff from the weapon, and the girl reappeared.

That was when Maka really did scream.

The girl instantly whirled around, eyes flashing in the dark, and Maka slapped a hand over her traitorous mouth. Before she could blink, something cold and hard pressed against her throat, and when she looked up, she saw the face of the smiling girl gazing coldly down. There was no trace of the genuine, sincere smile before – instead, the look in her icy dark blue eyes held mistrust, wariness, and fear.

"How did you find me? Who else is with you?" she hissed, and Maka could detect a slight foreign accent.

"I-I came by myself," stammered Maka, shocked and scared. Vaguely, she remembered one of Kami's bedtime stories from years ago.

"_There was once a young girl who worked in the village. She was very poor and lonely, as her parents had passed on years ago. One day, a handsome young man knocked on her door, looking for a place to stay. He was being chased by a gang of bandits and highway men, and he sought refuge. Though the girl's house was small, she let him in and eventually the two fell in love. The man was very handsome – he had dark red hair and bright green eyes like blades of grass._

_But what the young girl didn't know was that this man was not actually a human – he was a monster who stole the wives and girls of other families, and the bandits who had been chasing him were actually the lovers and family of the loved ones he'd stolen. Though he looked like a man, in reality, he could transform into a huge and dangerous weapon that no steel sword could match. When the girl found out, she tried to attack him, but he escaped."_

_Maka looked up at her mama. "Then what happened? Where's the prince? Did he save the girl and capture the bad man?"_

_Kami's face twisted into a bitter smile. "No, he's still out there in the world, probably luring away girls. What's worse is that there are other people like him – creatures who look like people but actually turn into killing machines."_

_Maka buried her face in her mother's chest. "Mama, I hope I don't ever meet these monsters."_

_Kami patted her daughter's head. "I hope you don't either, sweetie. But men are the worst kinds of monsters out there, always remember that."_

Mustering up her courage, Maka clenched her fists and said very quickly, "If you're going to kill me, at least do it quickly."

Oddly enough, the glowing presence she sensed was _comforting_, though it seemed to be coming from the girl. It felt warm and soothing, though it appeared to be pulsating slightly, as though distressed.

"_Kill _you?" Now it was the girl's turn to sound confused. She released the oddly shaped knife from Maka's throat and stepped back. "I would never kill another person in cold blood. But I want to know how much you know. How did you find me? I made sure nobody followed me. And how did you know about my family? You are not from my homeland."

Maka massaged her throat, choosing her words carefully. The girl's body was taut, ready to spring at any moment, and though the knife was pointed towards the ground, it was still held tightly in her hand. "I live in this area, by the woods. I didn't actually…see you. It was more of a feeling. When I close my eyes and concentrate," she closed her eyes to demonstrate, "I can see a sort of glowing orb coming from you. It's strange…I've never been able to do that before." Maka opened her eyes again. "I don't think you're the type of person to kill someone else, either," she said hesitantly. "You don't have…that feeling to you."

The girl's dark eyes widened. "You have the gift," she murmured, surprised. "It is exceedingly rare in people." To Maka's relief, the hand clutching the knife loosened, and the girl straightened up. She placed her knife back into a sheath on her belt and retied her high ponytail. "I think I owe you an explanation. Have you ever seen people who could turn into weapons before?"

Maka shook her head, knees trembling. It was almost as though she'd stepped from reality into one of her mama's bedtime fairytales. "No," she rasped, throat dry. "But I think…I think my mother has. Before. And my father –" She paused, not wanting to voice her suspicions. A glimmer of understanding flickered in the girl's eyes.

"My family and I have traveled many, many days from our homeland. The weapon gene runs strong in my family, you see. My brother is also a demon weapon." A hint of pride touched her voice.

Maka stared at her. "What do you…do?"

The girl laughed. "Have you ever had any attacks on your village? Unexplained disappearances, raids or attacks on homes?"

Maka shook her head, growing cold. The girl didn't _seem _like the person to attack and kidnap villagers, but you could never tell. "Nothing like that. No nearby invaders could possible get through the forest."

The other smiled grimly. "Then you are lucky. It is not your forest that protects you, but what is _inside. _I am sure you can feel it. Close your eyes again, and concentrate."

Maka obliged, confused, and shut her eyes. Feeling out with her mind, she tentatively stretched her vision beyond her immediate surroundings. She could see the orb of the girl beside her, but nothing else. There didn't seem to be any other presence –

Music.

She thought she could hear a faint strain of a haunting melody drifting through the forest, maddeningly tantalizing. It chilled her bones, it felt _wrong, _but it was beautiful in an eerie way, and she wanted to hear more. Maka snapped open her eyes and saw the girl watching her carefully.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is, though, has been keeping your village safe from attacks from witches and demons. In my homeland, we call them _kishin. _Creatures of madness. We believe that it is the duty of a weapon to protect others from these kishin – that is what we train for."

Maka nodded, feeling lightheaded as she mulled this over. Her thoughts returned to the mention of some unknown presence lurking just outside the perimeter of her town.

"So the creature in the forest...it's benevolent? Is it like a guardian?"

The girl shook her head. "No, I do not think so. Whatever is in your forest is far worse than any witch or demon. It has scared away all other enemies."

Maka's mind whirled from all this new information. Witches and demons and humans who turned into weapons. It was too much for her. Maka's legs finally collapsed, and she fell onto the floor, breathing hard.

"Are you okay?" The girl bent down and extended her hand again. "It must be hard to process all of this at once." The smile Maka had seen on the first day was back on her face, open and welcoming. "By the way, my name is Tsubaki."

Maka hesitated, but this time accepted the Tsubaki's hand and allowed the girl to help her to her feet. She smiled back tentatively.

"I'm Maka."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This chapter goes to **AliceUnknown**, who sent me an awesome PM a while ago and finally kicked my butt back into action. Also shout out to **Shenzuul**, my fantastic beta, who's been super patient with me and is basically the best person ever.

A cookie for anyone who caught my Star Wars reference! Hmmm.


	3. chapter 3

chapter three

* * *

><p>In the year that followed Maka and Tsubaki's chance meeting, the two girls became good friends. Despite Maka's initial hesitance to trust a stranger, she found herself drawn in by the other girl's warmth and sincerity.<p>

One morning, Maka shuffled into the bookstore to find a young woman in the place of Jocasta's familiar figure. The newcomer's eyes were the golden amber of honey, and she had short, spiky blonde hair. Two long strands framed her face and twisted together in a coil down her chest. Despite the frigid temperature, she wore a slim fitting black gown that exposed her bare arms. The woman looked up from a book she was reading as Maka removed her coat and stamped her feet on the doormat.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" asked Maka uncertainly. It was strange to see the mysterious newcomer standing at Jocasta's usual post, the familiar presence of the kindly old woman missing. For as long as Maka had known the old book lover, she'd always been punctual and had never missed a day of work.

The woman placed a thick ribbon in the crease of the book and shut it carefully. She looked at Maka and a shadow crossed her face. "I have some bad news for you," she said sadly. "Jocasta passed away last night. I'm her niece, but I've come from my town to Death Village to take her place. I was actually coming here to visit her, but she died almost as soon as I arrived."

Maka's stomach plummeted. Stumbling back, she landed on a nearby chair and pressed her cold hands against her lap as she tried to steady her breathing. "But she was taking medicine for it! A healer gave her some potion – it was helping her!" she argued, as though protesting would bring the old bookseller back to life. "That's impossible. I saw her just yesterday!" Her voice cracked as she struggled to control herself.

"I'm afraid you can't always trust healers," murmured the young woman, slim fingers tapping against the spine of her book. "Some of them may not always have your best interests at heart."

Maka looked up at her sharply. "Surely you don't mean –"

"Oh, no, I don't think the healer _poisoned _her. It may well have been an accident."

Maka was frozen in her chair, mind churning sluggishly. When Maka had seen Jocasta the other day, hard at work as ever, she'd assured Maka that the medicine was working and she was feeling much better. There was no way she was gone. The old bookseller had been somewhat austere, but she had looked out for Maka since she'd first showed up at the bookstore as a young girl, looking for a job. Jocasta had helped guide Maka's education suggesting new books for her to read and opening doors to different worlds. With her gone…a surge of loneliness stronger than Maka had felt in many, many years overwhelmed her. She was vaguely aware of something hot and wet stinging her eyes – another sensation that had become unfamiliar. She wiped her eyes and saw the young woman gazing at her with pity.

"I'm so sorry; I know how close you were to her. Maka, right? Jocasta told me a lot about you in her letters," she said.

"Thank you," mumbled Maka. "I didn't catch your name?"

The stranger's smile matched the lilting musicality of her soothing voice. "You can call me Medusa."

* * *

><p>Maka excused herself from work early that day at Medusa's insistence. "I can take care of myself, don't worry. I'll just do a little bit of exploration today to get my bearings. Go home and rest up. This must be a huge shock."<p>

Maka walked through the icy streets of Death City in a daze. Drained, she trudged listlessly down the slushy cobblestone path. The wind picked up, and Maka ducked her head to shield her face from the bitter cold. She was sharply awakened from her reverie when she collided head on with a chestnut horse. The animal whickered in surprise and shied to the side, while the rider's grip on the reins tightened and forced the horse back into submission.

"I'm so sorry," stammered Maka, eyes watering from the pain of collision. "I wasn't paying attention."

The rider looked down at her. Shaking herself out of her daze, Maka realized the rider was a woman. She was beautiful and elegant, wrapped in a silky black cloak. The garment was mesmerizing, patterned with sweeping, curling strokes, a design that reminded her of something she had seen before.

"Quite all right, my dear," said the woman. "You seem upset about something."

Maka looked into the dark, inviting eyes of the woman. Something about those black, glittering jewels compelled her to open her mouth and say, "I just found out that my close friend, the owner of the bookstore in the village, passed away last night."

The woman's lovely face softened in compassion, and she reached out a pale hand gently cup Maka's cheek. "You poor child. It's always hard to lose those who are close to you." Her face lit up, and she rummaged around the inside folds of her dark cloak, procuring what looked like a small bundle of dried leaves. "This is my specialty. Just boil this in some hot water, and you'll feel much better."

Maka accepted the tea leaves cautiously and slipped them in the pocket of her coat. "Are you a healer?"

"Yes, I am. I've heard that Death Village is in need of a healer, so I packed up my belongings and made my way here."

"It's not that we're in need of a healer. We just need a competent one," muttered Maka darkly, her fists clenching.

The lady arched a dark eyebrow. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

"I'm pretty sure that Jocasta, the owner, died because the healer wasn't able to figure out what was wrong."

Alarm flashed across the woman's face. "You don't say? All the more reason for me to hurry along, then." She picked up the reins, preparing to leave. "Do try some of that tea, Maka. And again, I offer my condolences." Dipping her head slightly, the healer spurred her horse trotted onward and away.

In her surprise, Maka didn't even realize that she had never told the healer her name.

* * *

><p>"Well, she seems nice enough and she definitely knows her way around books. But it's strange, I don't remember Jocasta ever mentioning that she had any family members. She never married and I'm positive that she said she was an only child." Maka furrowed her brow and flipped over onto her back, the bedsprings creaking beneath her. "I still can't believe she's gone."<p>

Tsubaki placed her hand on Maka's. "I know. I'm so sorry." Maka's friend had come over to check on her, having heard the news of Jocasta's death from another villager.

Maka turned away, squeezing her eyes shut. "It's –"

A sharp rapping on the door interrupted her, and she sat bolt upright, eyes narrowing at the insistent knocking on the door. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she snapped. "I don't have time for this!"

Before Tsubaki could stop her, Maka grabbed a broom that had been propped near her bed just for this purpose and marched up to the front door, flinging it open to reveal a tall, pale man with unkempt black hair and odd maroon eyes. His gaunt face suggested that he was thin, but it was hard to tell underneath the vast number of layers he wore. Although he could have been considered handsome, the cruel slant of his arrogant eyes marred his good looks.

The man leered at Maka, stepping inside the cottage without invitation. Tsubaki stifled a snicker and dove under the bed, but the man didn't notice, his greedy eyes fixated on Maka alone. "Hello, Maka," he drawled. "Just thought I'd stop by and check on your pretty face, make sure you're all right."

"Get out, Asura," snapped the blonde, green eyes hard as flint. She tightened her grip on the broom, her weapon of choice. "I'm sick of seeing you."

"Oh, no need to flatter me like that, Maka, you'll only spoil me," he sneered, leaning towards her. Maka tried to maneuver around him, but he pinned her against the wall with his hands on either side of her head. "Doesn't it ever get _lonely_, living here all by yourself?" he breathed. The stench of moldy cheese and stale beer wafted into her face. Maka gagged and tried not to vomit, holding up the broom in an attempt to keep him away. "I think you need you need someone to keep you warm, especially when the weather gets cold like this," he grinned, implication clear.

Maka shuddered and nimbly ducked under his arms, darting away from him. "I mean it, Asura. Get out, or I'll make you."

"What, with that broom? Don't be ridiculous," he jeered.

"That's it," snarled Maka. She spun the broom, rapping it smartly against Asura's back and legs. He let out a sharp yelp of pain, but she adjusted her grip and used the bristly end of the broom to jab him out of the house, then slammed the door in his face.

"You'll regret this, Maka!" came the angry shout, but Maka just shrugged it off.

"Grow up, you baby, you're wearing so many rags it can't have hurt anyways." She turned away from the door, eyes zeroing on the now empty bed. "Come out, Tsubaki. Fun's over."

Her best friend rolled out, ninja-style, from beneath the bed, wheezing from laughter and the dust collected underneath – Maka avoided using her broom for conventional purposes and kept it as a weapon instead.

"Well, I'm glad one of us enjoyed it," she muttered sourly, while the taller girl collapsed on the bed, clutching her ribs.

"The _look _on your _face!" _she giggled. "Oh, Maka, if you could have seen it, you would've laughed too."

"I'm sure," came the short reply.

"Oh, lighten up, Maka. I know tons of girls who would commit murder to have Asura offer to live with them."

Maka perched primly on the bed, refusing to look at her friend. "But he's so _creepy!_ Did you see the way he was leering at me?"

"Maybe you should just give him a chance," offered Tsubaki. "You could fall in love with him, maybe." It was a joke; Tsubaki knew how much Maka hated Asura.

"Tsubaki, you're such a romantic. So hopeless," Maka said irritably, turning a page in the book said romantic had brought her. "Love doesn't exist."

"Maka, you don't seriously believe that. There's someone out there for everyone, I'm sure of it. Even for someone as grumpy as you," Tsubaki countered cheerfully.

"Thanks," Maka grunted. "'Appreciate it."

"It's true!" the other insisted. "Someday, I'll find a prince, like the ones in those fairytales you read. Someone strong and confident. But caring at the same time." She sighed happily.

"Men are all just a bunch of bastards. Love is just a nicer word for lust. Look at me – I'm living proof," she said shortly. Maka slammed the cover of the book shut and searched for an empty space in her crammed bookshelf.

"That's not true. You love me, don't you?"

Maka hesitated slightly. "Yes," she sighed, "but that's different."

Tsubaki smiled at her gently. "It really isn't. That's proof of love. You'll find it someday too, I'm sure. Anyways, I have to go now. Don't be too uptight, okay?" She hugged her grumbling friend tightly before getting up to leave. "And I'm really sorry to hear about Jocasta," she added, normally cheerful eyes serious. "I'll stop by tomorrow too. Maybe I'll bring Masamune." Kissing her friendly swiftly on the cheek, Tsubaki left the house and shut the door and the blonde was left alone.

Maka laid back on her bed and stared glumly at the ceiling. With Jocasta gone, Maka felt completely empty. It was like she had nothing to live for, no path in life. She'd always felt like a student under Jocasta's tutelage, but now she was completely alone. Tsubaki was her friend, but next to Tsubaki's warmth and tenderness, she felt like an emotionless rock.

It just wasn't fair, she decided, rolling over and staring at the floor. A tear leaked from her eye and trailed down her face. Maka hated herself for crying, because even though she was crying for Jocasta's death, she was also crying for herself. There was nothing Maka loathed more than self-pity. As she stared at the dirt floor, Maka caught sight of the crushed leaves the new healer had given her. She hadn't even noticed that they'd fallen out of her pocket. The healer's word's drifted back to her, and, sighing, Maka stood to boil some water. When the water was hot enough, she poured it into a mug and added the leaves, swirling the water around to make the tea steep faster. The liquid turned a pleasant amber, and a fragrant aroma arose from the steam. Blowing softly to cool the hot drink, Maka took a small sip.

She was surprised by the taste. It was very good. It wasn't bitter, nor was it too sweet, but had a flowery flavor that was soothing. Within minutes, the tea was gone. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she quickly collapsed onto the bed, lulled to sleep by the warmth in her stomach and weary from the day's trauma.

She woke up the next morning feeling oddly relaxed. Perhaps the healer's tea had worked after all. She rose quickly, and prepared to leave the house, wrapping her coat tightly around herself as she stepped out the door. When she arrived at the bookstore, she found Medusa already there, reading a book and sipping a drink from a mug. The woman looked up at Maka as the girl came in and a warm smile lit up her face. "Good morning, Maka," Medusa greeted. "You look much better today. I hope you got some rest?"

Maka shrugged, hanging her coat and scarf on the small coat rack by the door. "A new healer came to town yesterday, and she gave me some tea leaves. I don't know what they were, but they helped for sure.

"A healer?" said Medusa sharply. "What did she look like?"

Maka glanced at her curiously. "She had long black hair and dark eyes, pale skin. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought she was a noble." She frowned, thinking back. Her memories of yesterday had all blurred into one confusing jumble. There had been something about the cloak that was particularly fascinating.

A large thud made her jump. Medusa inspected the cover of her book and daintily flicked something off.

"Sorry about that," she said airily. "Spiders – I hate them."

That was it. "Spider webs," she said out loud. "Her cloak was decorated with spider webs."

The sound of shattering pottery echoed through the room, and Medusa hissed in pain as the broken shards of the mug she'd been grasping released their hot contents. Maka rushed over.

"Are you okay? Here, let me help," she said, reaching out, but Medusa waved her away.

"I'm fine, just grab me some snow from outside, would you please?" Maka obliged and returned a few moments later with a handful of cold snow. Medusa took it gratefully and pressed it against her scalded hand, sighing in relief. She muttered something under her breath that Maka didn't catch, then wiped up the spilled contents of her mug and the melting snow with a rag that Maka handed to her. Her skin already looked better.

"Maka," Medusa began carefully, "You don't think that this healer was the same one who was treating Jocasta, do you?"

Maka hesitated. She had been wondering the same thing but realized that it wouldn't make sense, as Jocasta had been seeing the healer for months and this one hadn't arrived until yesterday.

"I don't think so," she responded, explaining her theory.

Medusa's eyes flashed. "You know, I'd like to have a word with whoever it was," she said. "I'm just as upset as you are. She was my favorite grandmother, after all. Did the healer mention her name to you at all?"

Maka bit her lip. "I think it was…Abigail…no, Ariadne…wait, that's not it either." She blew air out in frustration. "A-A –"

"Arachne?"

Maka snapped her fingers. "Yes, that's it!" Medusa's face went as pale as a sheet. "Do you…do you know her?"

Medusa looked around, her eyes wide with fear. She lowered her voice. "Arachne is my sister," she said. "But she…" Her voice trailed off as she swallowed, and wiped her hands on her black dress. "She killed our whole family."

Maka's hand flew to her mouth. "What?" she asked in horror.

"Yes, my parents and my younger sister. She killed them all. But that's not it." Medusa smiled bitterly. "She didn't kill them by any…_mortal _means, say, with knives or poison. No," she laughed, her voice high with a hint of irony. "She killed them with _magic._"

"Magic?" Maka repeated, disbelieving. "Are you saying your sister is a witch?" But then, she supposed, maybe it wasn't so surprising. If people could turn into weapons, and there were monsters in the woods, why shouldn't there be witches running around either?

Medusa nodded grimly. "That's exactly right. Arachne is a witch – in more ways than one," she added darkly. "I was lucky to escape with my life. Maka, I fear that I may have placed you and your village in great danger by coming here. Perhaps I should leave. Maybe I will stay in the woods. I do have some healer knowledge, after all, as our mother was one."

Maka gripped the woman's hands fiercely, her green eyes sparking. "It's not safe in the woods! You're probably safer here than you are in there, witch or no. What can she do? I'll – well, I don't know what I can do, but if she ever tries to threaten you, I'll do _something._"

"You're too kind, Maka," laughed Medusa. "We just met yesterday!"

"It doesn't matter. Any friend of Jocasta's is a friend of mine. I'm sure we could do something about your sister. I have a friend who – "

But here she faltered. Maka had been about to tell Medusa about Tsubaki and her family, whose very purpose was to hunt down witches and demons, but she hesitated. Tsubaki had never told her explicitly not to tell others about her family's special gene, but she decided that it wasn't exactly something that her friend wanted to be spread as the new bit of gossip discussed eagerly among the inhabitants of Death Village. "At any rate, I'm sure if we told the villagers, they'd be able to do something."

Medusa shook her head ruefully. "I'm afraid she's too powerful. Arachne has spies everywhere. No, please don't tell anybody. The less people who know about her identity, the better. They will be safer that way."

"But shouldn't we warn them?" Maka asked, unconvinced.

"Let's lie low for a while and wait for her next move. I don't think she'll do anything harmful, yet. She may not even know that I'm here."

Maka frowned, still feeling unsettled, but agreed. "If you're sure."

Medusa clapped her hands. "Good. Now, I did have a look around here last night, but as someone who's worked here for several years, do you think you could give me a more thorough tour?"

As the two got up to move, neither noticed the figure lurking outside the door sneak away quickly through the snow.

* * *

><p>Arachne was quite pleased with her new home. The rich old man who used to live here had been about to die anyways, and although the villagers would find it mildly upsetting, she was sure they would forget about him in a month. They would dismiss his death as a tragic accident. She lifted her hand to her eye; on the top of her knuckle rested the glossy black spider that had been responsible for the man's death. She was a beautiful specimen, with a brilliant red hourglass adorning her back and eight gorgeous eyes sparkling like jet stones. Arachne stroked her lovingly with the tip of her finger before setting the spider down gently on the ground and watching her scurry away across the richly embroidered rug.<p>

A sharp rapping on the door made her turn around. Peering through the peephole, Arachne saw a man bundled in swathes of white cloth. She opened the door daintily and looked condescendingly at the man.

"Yes? How may I help you?"

"Let me in," he panted. His dark hair looked disheveled, as though he'd just run a great distance. "I have a bargain to make with you."

"Excuse me?" Arachne's eyes narrowed.

"You're a witch, aren't you? I heard your sister saying something about it?"

Quick as a flash, Arachne's hand darted out and seized the man by his wrist, nails digging deeply into his flesh. He let out a pig-like squeal of surprise and pain as she dragged him into the house and slammed the door.

"How did you find out?" she hissed menacingly, venom dripping from every word. "Choose your words carefully," she warned.

The man let out a slight whimper and gulped, but his eyes still glimmered with hints of greed. "I told you, I'm here to strike a bargain," he croaked. Arachne's eyes flashed murderously (how _dare _this scum think he could use her?) but then she smiled craftily. A plan had slipped into her head. Men were so easy to manipulate, the greedy ones easiest of all.

"Well, I suppose it's no use hiding from you, as you already seem to know my little secret," she said, releasing his arm. "I do hope you'll understand why I was a little, ah, forceful with you – I can't have everyone knowing," she laughed, her voice light. "Please, settle in and make yourself at home." She gestured towards the living room. The repulsive man immediately dropped down on the armchair and placed his muddy boots on the table with a loud squelching noise.

_Filth_, thought Arachne, but she allowed no sign of disgust to slip over her carefully arranged features. Now she must play the role of the lady hostess, gentle and demure, willing to listen to the demands of the powerful and handsome man. "What is this bargain you wish to strike with me? And, as I suspect we may be here for some while, would you like something warm to drink? Tea, perhaps?"

"Eh? Oh, yeah, sure, tea is fine. With lots of sugar." Arachne slipped into the kitchen and quickly prepared the tea, muttering a spell to make the water boil itself instantly. She added some of the calming leaves she'd given Maka the day before and seriously considered adding a few drops of spider venom into the man's tea. When she came back, she settled down graciously across from the man, presenting him his tea and turning her full attention to him.

He accepted the cup, gulping it down and smacking his lips loudly. With a huge belch, he shifted in the armchair and put the empty cup on the ground.

"I want you to make me a love potion," he announced.

Arachne nearly burst into laughter, but she managed to keep her face straight. "I can't imagine why such a handsome and charming man like you would have any use for a love potion, sir…?"

"Asura," he informed her, completely missing her barely hidden sarcasm. She'd already known his name; in fact, she probably knew almost everyone in Death Village thanks to her spiders, but it would be in her best interest to make the man feel important. "There's this girl, see, mother was a dirty whore, but she won't say yes no matter what I do. Who does she think she is?" he demanded indignantly.

"Who indeed," murmured Arachne, oozing sympathy. "Wouldn't you like some more tea?" she prompted, pouring some more from the kettle into the cup he held out to her. "But a love potion will only do so much, you know. I have a better plan. Wouldn't you like for her to fall in love, really fall in love, without the use of any trickery? And while we're at it, what's in it for me?" she asked, ready to be amused by his response.

"What's in it for you?" he sneered. The tea was making him comfortable, blurring his instincts. This was excellent. "I won't tell the village what you really are, and they won't burn you alive at the stake," he crowed. Arachne sighed inwardly; such a predictable response. Nevertheless, she pretended to be horrified and a little resentful, letting him think that he had her cornered. Oh, if he only knew!

"I suppose I'll have to go along with your wishes then. But what do you say to my plan?"

He frowned. "How're you going to do that? What do I have to do?" he asked, leaning forward eagerly.

"I want your soul."

"My _soul?" _Asura nearly dropped his teacup, but Arachne placed her hand gently under his. She looked him directly in the eyes, patience starting to wear thin.

"I could very easily snatch it away from you right now," she mused. Asura became uncomfortably aware of a scuttling noise coming from behind him. He took another sip of tea to hide his fear, and the soothing liquid calmed him. It would be okay. _He _was the one who held all the cards here. She was powerless, too worried about concealing her identity from the rest of Death Village. "But," and the witch's eyes brightened, "a soul willingly given, now that is a different matter."

Asura licked his lips. "Will…will it hurt?" he rasped. The terrible thought of death clutched his heart and made his stomach churn. "Will I die?"

She smiled in a motherly fashion. "Quite the opposite. I will sacrifice your soul in return for unthinkable power. None will be able to resist you. You will become greater and more terrible than any other man, no longer needing to fear anything. Only listen to my commands." Arachne watched the man before her (_sniveling, groveling creature) _as he pondered it over in his small brain. "Do we have a deal?" She leaned forward. Under better circumstances, perhaps the stupid man would have seen the danger in her offer (or perhaps not), but the tea leaves had made him sleepy and full of confidence. Asura held out his hand, and the witch shook it daintily. _Foolish man._

"Now come, there's no time like the present!" She sprung up, setting his teacup aside, and grabbed him by the wrist. She turned around abruptly to ask him one last question. "How do you feel about spiders, dear Asura?"

The man crinkled his nose. "I hate them," he mumbled. "Nothing gives me the creeps more than those eight-legged monsters."

"Perfect. You'll do just fine." The witch smiled and dragged him with frightening strength to the back of the house. She flung open the door to the cellar and lead him down the cold, damp shaft. He was aware of an eerie glow coming from the end of the steps. They turned sharply, and Asura found himself standing in a large stone room where bluish orbs floated at about chest height. There were about a hundred of the orbs, illuminating the room with their mysterious light.

"Sit in the chair," commanded Arachne, and Asura obliged, sitting nervously on a shabby wooden chair in the center of the room. The closest of the orbs was about a foot away from his face; he wanted to touch it, but something warned him not to. Arachne snapped her fingers, and suddenly pearly white ropes wrapped around Asura, binding him to the chair. Upon closer inspection, Asura realized that the ropes were made out of what could only be spider silk, but that was ridiculous – no spider was that big.

"Hey!" he protested. "What do you think you're doing?" Arachne's tea had made him lethargic, and instead of anger, he only felt mild irritation.

"Oh, don't worry, this is just for your safety. The process may startle you a little, nothing too serious, and it would be troublesome if you wriggled around. Now then."

Arachne raised her hand and began chanting in a low voice, in a language Asura had never heard before. The rustling sound he'd heard before suddenly came back and through the dim light of the orbs, he could make out small creatures scurrying across the floor towards him.

Spiders.

They poured from every corner of the dark chamber, from the ceiling, from the cracks in the floor – spiders of all different sizes. The largest were the size of his hand, the smallest no larger than a grain of sand. Furry, glossy, striped, speckled, ranging from a sickly green to menacing black, they came in droves of all different colors and patterns, malicious eyes glittering and legs swarming towards him faster than was possible for normal spiders. Fear cut through the fog in his mind. He opened his mouth to scream, but another rope of what was indeed spider silk gagged him. Above the skittering and clicking, Arachne's chanting could still be heard, rising steadily in pitch and volume. The first wave of spiders reached his feet, and he desperately tried to kick them away, mashing at their bodies with his boots. But for every spider he smeared against the floor, twenty more were there to take its place. They began crawling up his body, crawling into his clothes and onto his face. His heart was pounding as he struggled violently against the ropes. Spindly legs tickled and itched against his face, and he shut his eyes tightly.

They were going to eat him alive.

The smallest of the spiders swarmed into every open orifice – his ears, his nose, forcing themselves through the gag and lips and even trying to get between his eyelashes. He couldn't breathe because the spiders were now swarming down his throat. Their small bodies crunched against his teeth. The larger ones peeled back the skin on his forehead and spun webs around him, mummifying him. He wanted to _die _– there were insects flooding through his bloodstream and burrowing through his brain, eating him from the inside out, feasting on his innards and his flesh.

Arachne's chanting rose to a high pitched command. The orbs in the center of the room began moving towards the spider covered figure in the center of the room, as if attracted by some magnetic force. With a brilliant flash of blinding light, they were absorbed by the body of wretched man sitting in the chair.

When the light had died, Arachne's voice fell silent. She slowly walked to the center of the room, her gaze intent. One by one, the spiders began crawling away, back into the shadows, and the spider webs melted away. A crackling tension – _pure madness, and was there anything more beautiful? – _filled the chamber, as a new slit in the middle of Asura's forehead opened to reveal a single, burning red eye.

Over his scream of horror, the high peals of Arachne's triumphant laughter could be heard.

* * *

><p>Maka hurried to the center of the town as fast as she could without slipping on the icy surface of the street. She rarely visited Tsubaki, as the opulence and class of her friend's neighborhood made her feel uncomfortable. But this was an emergency. Maka was sure that Tsubaki and her family could handle a witch, especially if she was here just by herself, regardless of Medusa's warnings. That was what the Nakatsukasa family was here for, after all. Maka slowed down as she neared the metal gate surrounding the Nakatsukasa estate, pushing it open, and walked to the front doors. She grabbed the brass knocker and rapped sharply on the mahogany wood. After a few minutes, the door opened to reveal a grim-looking young man.<p>

"Oh, Masamune," Maka greeted. She hesitated, surprised to see him. She rarely saw the serious brother of her cheerful friend. "Is Tsubaki here?"

Masamune looked at her suspiciously, then shook his head. "She hasn't come home since she visited you yesterday. Is she not with you?"

Maka went cold, and not just from the weather. "What? She…she hasn't returned?"

Masamune shook his head again.

"Oh no," Maka whispered. Icy fear flooded her veins, and she turned on her heel, leaving a bewildered Masamune on the steps to sprint back to her cottage on the outskirts of the town. When she got back, she flung open the door, hoping against hope that she would find her friend sitting on the bed.

"Tsubaki?" she called, knowing it was futile. "Tsubaki?"

There was no response. Maka sank down on her bed, twisting her scarf anxiously.

What if the witch had gotten to her?

* * *

><p>Despite her gentle appearance and demeanor, Tsubaki was tougher than she looked. The Nakatsukasa family was well-known back in its homeland for the weapon gene, and Tsubaki had been fortunate enough to hit the jackpot of the gene pool. After leaving Maka's house, she had decided to train in the woods for a while before going home.<p>

She began to regret the decision as she walked slowly through the trees at the edge of the forest. It was growing dark quickly, and the temperature was dropping. The wind picked up, and she shivered, wrapping her coat tightly around her as she hurried along the path. In the distance, she could hear the chilling howl of a wolf, and the answering call of its pack. It was a several-mile walk back to her house, and it usually took her several hours, but she could make it shorter if she hurried. It began raining as she ran, the droplets of icy rain driving against her. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by the crash of thunder. The blinding light illuminated a heart-stopping image.

Three bulky, misshapen figures prowled toward her. They were similarly built – grotesque hybrids of wolf and man. Short fur covered their hulking bodies, and they had the heads of wolves. Yellow eyes were surrounded by a thick crust of bloodshot white. The paws were elongated to resemble hands and viciously curving claws adorned each digit. The legs were muscular and built so that the creatures could alternately walk on all fours or upright like a human.

Demons.

They could smell her fear. The lead demon stepped forward, its hackles bristling as it lifted its snout and bared gleaming fangs. It gave a loud snarl and howled, jaws ripping open. It leapt forward, and the other two followed right after. Tsubaki didn't even give herself time to scream; she sprinted away from them as fast as she could. She was no coward, but neither was she an idiot. A weapon who could not do a partial transformation stood no chance against three fully matured demons. Fear lent her wings as she zig-zagged at random, hoping to throw them off her trail. She thanked the freezing rain for concealing her scent.

Eventually, Tsubaki left behind the hungry pants of the creatures, and she slowed down to a halt. She clutched her chest, gasping for air. She had never run so hard in her life. Her throat burned, and her heart pumped furiously. Adrenaline raced through her veins as she struggled to steady her breathing.

When she finally caught her breath, she collapsed against a tree trunk, lifting her face to the stormy heavens and allowing the pouring rain to cool her burning skin as she tried to collect her thoughts. Apart from the obvious fear of getting killed, her close encounter with the kishin made her uneasy for other reasons. Demons never bonded together or travelled in packs. In the past year, there had been no attacks on Death Village whatsoever. It was strange that three would suddenly appear so close to the boundary, especially with the presence lurking in the woods warding off all other predators. She frowned to herself and stood up, looking around her surroundings.

Her heart sank as she realized she was completely lost. She had meant to run in the opposite direction of the village, to lead the demons away from the town, but she hadn't realized she'd strayed so far from the path.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and she caught sight of a large mansion, almost a castle, really, not too far away. Tsubaki decided to make her way to it, hoping to find someone there. Fighting her way through the storm and the forest, stumbling over broken branches and slipping on wet leaves, Tsubaki reached the edge of the woods and froze in shock.

The presence of something ugly and raw was unmistakable here. Insanity permeated the area. She now stood at the entrance of an enormous garden, at the center of which stood the huge castle-like structure she'd seen before. Chunks of gray stone had crumbled away. Broken shingles littered the jagged roofs. Jagged edges of broken windows framed dark rooms like teeth. The tall turrets and spires seemed to scrape the clouds, but they tottered unevenly, as though about to crash to the ground at any given moment.

Every fiber of her being screamed at her to flee back into the woods, but she forced down her instincts. The woods were huge – there was no guarantee that she would find her way back home. She could be lost for days, and she would be completely helpless against the demons. Better to risk intruding onto this estate and incurring the wrath of the owner. The driving rain cemented her decision as she hurried up the long, winding path to the front doors. Tsubaki could tell that the garden had once been beautiful and well cared for, but now the grass was long and mingled with tall weeds.

Thorny vines and brambles choked the flower bushes. Ivy crawled up against the walls of the house, and the entire building gave off an air of death and decay.

Tsubaki wasn't one to be rude, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She wouldn't stay for too long, maybe just for the night, or until the storm passed and she could go home safely. She tried the door and, finding it unlocked, let herself in. She stood in a large foyer with a chessboard floor of black and white marble squares. To her right was a winding marble staircase, and a large hall stretched ahead of her. A beautiful crystal chandelier hung above her head, but its grandeur was diminished by cobwebs. She walked along the hall, her soaked coat and hair dripping on the tiles. Suddenly, she heard footsteps ahead of her. Tsubaki froze, frantically trying to come up with an excuse for why she was here. Someone ran forward and stopped abruptly in front of her. Another flash of lightning came through one of the shattered windows and illuminated the figure.

It was a young man with, oddly enough, messy _blue _hair.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **As always, you guys should thank my wonderful beta, **Shenzuul**. She's been an amazing help with the story!


	4. chapter 4

chapter four

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **If you are new to this story, you can just skip this note. If you are the one of the poor souls who had to wait a year and a half for an update, I'm going to have to ask you to wait a little longer before you read this chapter. I have completely rewritten the first chapter to include changes which are referenced to in this chapter and will also have major influences in the story later on, so I suggest you go back and read it. I'm so sorry, but I do think it's for the best.

* * *

><p>It was nighttime. A light knock on the door alerted Medusa as she perused through the bookshelves. Cursing under her breath, she strode over to the door and opened it.<p>

"My darling little sister," greeted Arachne, holding out her arms for a hug.

Medusa avoided the embrace, curtsying gracefully in front of her older sister instead. "Arachne, it's been too long. I've missed you so. When was the last time we saw each other?" She kept her body positioned firmly between the spider witch and the inside of the store.

"Hmm, I believe it was when I killed our dear parents and our other sister…ah…oh dear, I've forgotten her name," said Arachne idly, admiring the spider webs painted onto her carefully manicured nails. "You gave me quite a bit of trouble, but all is forgiven."

Medusa seethed but kept her voice sweet and a smile on her face. "My lady is too kind. And to what do we humble villagers owe the honor of your presence?"

Arachne glanced at her sister haughtily. "That is none of _your _concern, sister mine. You would do well to keep your nose out of other people's business."

"It wouldn't have anything to do with the Book of Eibon, now would it?" asked Medusa slyly.

"Listen well, you stupid girl," sneered Arachne. "Don't think I won't hesitate to kill you if you get involved."

Medusa laughed. "Because you were so successful last time. Don't worry, I have no interest in the book, nor in your new pet. Besides, I have my own experiment brewing nearby."

"The creature in the woods?"

"Yes, he's coming along quite beautifully, wouldn't you say? His time is almost up."

Arachne yawned and rolled her eyes. "As long as you stay out of my way."

She turned to leave, but Medusa grabbed her wrist. "I heard you met my charming assistant yesterday."

"Yes, Maka, was it? What of it?"

Medusa smiled wickedly. "You didn't notice? Those lovely green eyes…don't they remind you of anyone?"

Comprehension dawned upon Arachne, and her face twisted in fury. Medusa curled her lip.

"Yes, Maka _Albarn_," she taunted. "If not for her father, the Book of Eibon would already be in your grasp, isn't that right?"

Arachne yanked her wrist out of her sister's hand and glared coldly. "Stay out of my way," she warned.

Medusa smirked and curtsied once more. "Good night, dear sister. I hope to see you again soon," she said, and shut the door in Arachne's snarling face.

She walked behind the counter and sat down on the chair, drumming her fingers against the smooth wood of the desk. Medusa had also heard the rumors – that the Book of Eibon had never actually been destroyed, that the mercenary Spirit Albarn had hid it somewhere. If the rumors were to be believed – and she didn't see why not – then the most likely place for the book to be hidden was somewhere in Death Village. Unfortunately for Arachne, the protective wards that the Witch Mother had placed on it many years ago still lingered. The book was impossible to track down with magic.

Medusa hadn't been lying to her sister, for once. She had no interest in the spellbook. Her Black Blood creation would be far more glorious than any kishin could ever hope to be. She had to admit that her curiosity had been piqued, though. Moreover, it could be dangerous if Arachne got her hands on the book – who knew what trouble she would stir up?

The snake witch gazed out the window into the dimly lit street outside. Just where had the scythe hidden the book?

* * *

><p>The man was just gawking at her with his mouth open.<p>

"I-I'm really sorry. I was attacked by a pack of, um, wolves and – "

He didn't seem to be paying any attention. "A _girl_…" he whispered. Tsubaki blinked. That wasn't exactly the response she'd been expecting. "Are you the one?" he asked quietly, but he seemed to be talking to himself.

"I'm sorry?"

He started, as though just realizing that she was talking to him. Then the man jumped into action and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her down the hall with him. Startled, Tsubaki dug her heels in and pulled back. The romantic inside of her noticed that he was quite attractive, if a bit on the short side, with broad shoulders and clearly defined muscles. She rather liked the blue hair, strange as it was. But she also noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the tense, wary air around him, as though he expected someone to attack him at any second.

When he noticed her perturbed expression, he paused. The young man bit his lip, and a look of anguish flashed across his face for a second. Then his eyes steeled and he let her go.

Leaning towards her, he whispered urgently, "I must be crazy…it's no wonder, I suppose…But you seem like a nice girl, and I don't want to see you getting hurt. You have to get out of here, _now, _before the others find you and before he comes. I don't even think he cares about the curse anymore, he'll probably just kill you now if he sees you…" He trailed off, forgetting about her for a second. Then he shook his head and looked back at her. "Go quickly, before I change my mind, go back out that door and run back home and forget you ever came here. Okay?" He gave her a slight push, but she resisted. She had to at least try and ask for directions.

"I don't really understand, but I came here for directions, you see. It's pouring outside, and I'm completely lost. Do you think I could stay here for the night?"

His eyes grew wide. "Are you kidding? Stay _here_? You – "

"Black*Star, who are you talking to?" Another voice floated down the hall, and the person before her, Black*Star, swore violently.

A small, flickering flame bobbed down the hallway. In the dim candlelight, Tsubaki could make out the silhouette of a girl with short blonde hair and wide blue eyes. She was holding the wax candle without a candleholder, allowing the hot wax to drip freely over her fingers, though she didn't seem to notice.

When she caught sight of Tsubaki, her large blue eyes widened, and she dropped the candle in surprise. The fire hissed and went out, and the trio stood in darkness. Then the girl spoke up in hushed tones, her voice filled with excitement.

"Black*Star, this is it! She's the one we've been waiting for! We'll just – "

Black*Star stepped in front of Tsubaki protectively, reaching behind him to grab onto her hand. "No, Patti, she's not the one. She's just…someone who got lost."

The girl named Patti tried to fight her way past Black*Star to get to Tsubaki, kicking and scratching. "The only way to _get _here is to _be _lost, stupid! It doesn't matter! It _must _be her!" Black*Star held off the writhing Patti, while Tsubaki shrank back. Despite Patti's crazed eyes and ferocity, the girl was still keeping her voice down to a heated whisper.

Tsubaki had no idea what was going on. She starting to wish she'd taken Black*Star's advice and gone back out to face the demons.

The two stopped their struggle, both panting slightly from their small skirmish. Then Patti's eyes narrowed.

"Look, I don't really want to do this, but you're leaving me no choice."

He laughed quietly. "You can't do anything without Liz, Patti."

"I could call her."

"Go ahead and try." Black*Star held out his hand, and a pulsing orb of light appeared in his hand. Tsubaki was shocked. The glowing orb crackled with energy, and Tsubaki could see the girl named Patti hesitate, fingers twitching.

Who were these people?

Another set of footsteps came down the hall, and Black*Star tensed, preparing to fight off whoever it was.

"What's going on?"

A third voice joined them, along with the welcoming glow of a new candle. The weak light illuminated a young man with dark hair. One pale hand held the candle in a brass holder, and the other was in his pocket. He, too, had dark circles under his eyes, magnified by the long shadows cast by the candlelight, but he lacked the tense air that choked the others.

Patti turned towards him angrily. "Look, Kid," she hissed, gesturing at Tsubaki. "She _is _the one. Knock some sense into Black*Star, will ya?"

The man glanced at Tsubaki, his eyes widening a fraction of an inch. "Calm down, Patti," he said, not moving his eyes from Tsubaki's face. "Whether she is or not is irrelevant – she's dripping all over the floor and is probably freezing to death. Am I right?" he asked Tsubaki, who sneezed in response. "Well, come on, then. Despite our current circumstances, I'm sure we can warm you up and give you something to eat. Keep your voice down, though."

He turned to leave and Black*Star and Patti followed, the latter looking behind her to glare at Tsubaki, as though she might disappear, and the former still holding her hand. Tsubaki was thankful. Black*Star's hand was large and comforting, and she squeezed it a little tighter as they walked down the halls.

She was struck by the lack of décor on the walls. A house as large as this one was bound to have paintings and mirrors, but the dark walls were completely bare. It was quiet and empty, and the overall effect was eerily similar to that of crypt.

Tsubaki shuddered. She wanted to avoid thinking about dead people.

They entered what looked like the kitchen, and she sighed in relief. A large fire was crackling cheerfully, filling the air with warmth. Kid returned with a thick towel and another girl who had long, sandy brown hair and eyes to match Patti's. She carried a bundle of clothes, which she tossed at Tsubaki as she gave her an appraising glance.

"I'm Liz. You're about my size, so these should fit okay," she said. "There's a washroom over to the left."

Tsubaki nodded gratefully, and Kid passed her the towel as she got up. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the kitchen boring into her back and was glad when she shut the door to the washroom, blocking their view of her.

Her mind raced as she stripped from her damp, freezing clothes and pulled on the dry ones. Who _were _these people? Or better yet, _what _were they? Tsubaki had never seen anyone manifest their soul wavelength as Black*Star had done, and she suspected that there was more to Patti and and her sister than met the eye. Even Kid, the most calm and normal seeming of the group, unnerved her with his golden eyes.

How was it that the village had never heard of this castle? And the question that burned most urgently – what was the source of the madness? She'd felt it the minute she crossed over the from the woods and onto the edge of this territory, thick and suffocating. It cloaked everyone here, except maybe Kid, but they were not the source. They were merely victims of it. She frowned as she wrung out her long hair with the towel.

Tsubaki gathered her wet clothes and was about to open the door, but froze as she heard voices.

"Are you kidding? We have to let her go!" Black*Star was saying. "He'll tear her to shreds!"

"We are not letting our only chance leave!" said an equally loud voice, which Tsubaki identified as Patti.

Kid sighed. "There's no need to make a decision now. She's in no condition to return to wherever she came from through this storm, so she'll have to stay overnight. We're going to hide her, and we aren't going to tell him about this."

Someone, Tsubaki guessed Patti, gave an irritated sigh. Kid continued as though nothing had happened. "We will make a decision in the morning, once we've all had time to let this sink in and thought it through completely." He hesitated. "Though…I have to admit, the chances of this happening again are very slim. Regardless, we'll keep her here for the night."

Tsubaki, having heard enough, opened the door and pretended like she hadn't heard anything at all. "Thank you for the clothes," she said, smiling at Liz. "They fit perfectly."

"Eh, your boobs are about as big as mine," she shrugged. Kid's head whipped around as he stared at Tsubaki's chest, then looked at Liz's, then back at Tsubaki's. His eyes shone with fervor and Tsubaki yelped in surprise as he grabbed both girls chests and held them together.

"Such…such perfect symmetry!" he cried, tears of happiness streaming down his face. "It's beautiful! Patti, look at this! If only your breasts were slightly smaller!"

Patti merely gave Kid a wilting glare and one to Tsubaki for good measure, before pivoting on her heel and stalking out of the kitchen. Tsubaki pushed the man's hands away and awkwardly stepped back.

"Um, well," she stammered, not really sure what to say to a man who'd just groped her.

"Don't mind him," said Black*Star from behind her. He was sitting in front of the fire, looking as though he wasn't quite sure whether to laugh or scowl. "He's got some weird thing for symmetry. It pisses him off that Liz and Patti aren't the same size."

Liz huffed. "Well, excuse me for being smaller than my sixteen year old sister."

Black*Star chuckled and Liz gave a grudging smile before whipping around and delivering a swift kick in the pants to Kid, sending him flying.

"Get up! You're making a fool of yourself in front of our guest."

Kid got up, wincing, and rubbed his backside with a rueful look on his face. "Some people don't appreciate art," he muttered under his breath. Then his face cleared, and he held out his hand to Tsubaki. "I didn't introduce myself. My name is Death the Kid, but you may call me Kid."

Tsubaki shook his hand, smiling a little at his odd name. "I'm Tsubaki. I apologize for imposing, but I was chased by…wolves," she said, stumbling a little over her lie.

Kid's eyes darkened. "You'll find much worse here than wolves," he said grimly.

"What exactly is this place?" she asked.

A hush fell over the room. Even the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees, despite the crackling fire.

Liz spoke up. "Where is he?"

"Outside, last I saw him. Probably at the grave," said Black*Star.

Grave? Tsubaki didn't like where this was going at all.

"We should be all right as long as we're quiet," said Kid. He began pacing in front of the fire. "This will be hard to explain, Tsubaki, as we are limited by – " He paused and closed his mouth. Frowning, he opened his mouth and closed it again. Tsubaki would have laughed if not for the frustrated expression on his face. "Well, please understand that we are restricted, against our will, from telling you certain details."

"Look, the main thing you need to know is that it isn't safe here, and you should leave as soon as possible," said Black*Star abruptly. He glowered at the fire and cracked his knuckles. "And I'll fight anyone who tries to stop you."

Kid sighed. "Black*Star, please. No one is going to be fighting. We're in enough danger as it is."

"If it's so dangerous here, why don't you leave?" asked Tsubaki.

"A number of different reasons," said Liz. "For me and Patti, guilt. Or it was, at first. We tried leaving, later, but it's impossible. Kid is with us, and Black*Star over there – "

"I'm his friend," said Black*Star quietly. He looked up and winked suddenly at Tsubaki. "And a god like me doesn't leave his followers behind."

Tsubaki was completely lost. There were huge chunks in their explanation, though obviously _something_ was preventing them from telling her the whole story.

"Who are you talking about?" she asked.

Liz began to speak, but Kid made a sudden slashing movement with his hand and she stopped.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

They all fell silent and strained their ears, though for what, Tsubaki couldn't say. There was nothing except for the occasional snap from the fireplace.

Finally, Kid nodded and Tsubaki let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. He took the poker from the wall and banked the fire, until the room was lit only by the dim glow of the burning coals.

"It's not safe here," he said. "We should go – "

"Go where, exactly?" came a new voice.

Everyone froze.

Tsubaki could feel another presence behind her. She put a hand around her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. There was something very _wrong_ about this person. He was like a personification of the feeling the entire house gave off. Her heart began racing.

"Oh, look, she's frightened," said the voice, laughing. "Turn around, why don't you? There's nothing to be scared of." The voice was compelling, deep and husky, but the harsh laughter grated against her ears.

She turned around slowly. Despite the darkness, she could make the outline of someone tall leaning against the counter. She saw Patti slip through the entrance of the kitchen out of the corner of her eye.

Then there was a flash of lightning and she could see bright, silvery hair and pointed teeth. But the worst were the _eyes. _They were a dark, crimson red, gleaming in the darkness like the eyes of a demon.

Her breath was caught in her chest. Something about the person standing before her chilled her to the bone. She got the feeling that he wasn't completely human. There was something raw about him that pierced her deeply, paralyzing her with fear. This man, this creature, was undoubtedly the source of insanity that smothered the entire house. Here was madness in its most concentrated form, taking the appearance of a white haired monster with eyes the color of blood.

"Say something."

Black*Star moved and put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Soul," he warned. "Come on. Leave her alone."

_Soul? _she thought dimly. _His name is _Soul? _But he looks like he doesn't even have one…_

The man straightened and turned to look at Black*Star. "No." He laughed again, sending shivers down her spine. "Make me."

"Just let her go, she's not doing anything."

He peered at Black*Star through the strands of silvery white hair covering his eyes. "Why do you care so much?" Glancing back at Tsubaki, he asked, "Aren't you going to say _anything?_"

"I'm very sorry," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "I did not mean to trespass here."

"Is that it?" he asked dangerously, those vivid red eyes burning into her own cobalt ones.

"I – "

There was a whoosh of air, and suddenly Tsubaki felt something cold and sharp pricking her neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but just hard enough to make her fear for her life. "I don't like it when people sneak around behind my back," he whispered in her ear, and the tip of what she was sure must be a knife drew a thin line of blood against her pale throat.

The blade suddenly pulled back from her neck, and she saw Black*Star confronting the other man.

"Soul, come on, you wouldn't hurt a girl," he said quietly. "I know you wouldn't."

"Who's to say I wouldn't? I killed my own brother. I can kill this girl too."

Tsubaki felt her stomach drop. This _demon _had killed his own _brother?_ Tsubaki could never imagine even laying hand on Masamune.

"Stop it. You know that's not true."

"Yeah? Want to see how far I'd go?"

The screech of metal on metal made Tsubaki flinch, and she heard someone hiss in pain, though she couldn't tell who'd been hurt.

"Don't threaten me, Soul," said Black*Star dangerously. His voice softened a little. "I'm on your side."

Someone put their hand around her mouth. She almost screamed, but it was just Kid. Slowly, he pulled her to her feet.

_Let's go_, he mouthed, and they cautiously inched their way to the back of the room while Black*Star distracted Soul. They reached another doorway and Kid pushed Tsubaki through it. "Go down the hall and turn left. You'll find a door, it should be unlocked," he told her. "Run!"

Tsubaki had never run so fast in her life, not even when the demons had been chasing her in the woods. The only thought in her mind was to put as much distance between that evil monster and herself. Turning the corner so sharply that she almost slipped, Tsubaki saw a wooden door ahead of her. Her feet pounded on the stone floor. Just a few steps farther –

Something slammed into her and sent her crashing to the floor. Dazed, she blinked as the man hauled her up roughly and pinned her against the wall.

"Leaving so soon? I don't _think_ so," he snarled. His eyes were wild, his hair a tangled mess. She could see something dark oozing from a cut on his lip.

Tsubaki was not about to go down without a fight. She may have been soft-spoken and polite, but she was a born fighter, trained to kill since before she could walk. The man before her was no different from all of the other demons she had slain.

She twisted out of his grip, and her leg snapped out in a roundhouse kick that should have taken his head off his shoulders.

But he was too fast. Ducking swiftly, he seized her arm and twisted it behind her back, forcing her to her knees.

Out of desperation, she transformed into a giant shuriken and was rewarded with a shout of surprise and pain as her blade cut deep into his hand. She released her weapon form and sprinted to the door, but he grabbed her by the end of her hair and yanked hard, making her cry out.

"Oh, you know how to _play_," he breathed. His arm shimmered, and Tsubaki's heart sank as she saw his arm shift smoothly into the gleaming, black and red blade of a scythe. "Pull that again, and I really will kill you."

She stopped her struggling instantly. He didn't seem like the kind to make empty threats.

"You don't have to be so frightened," he told her, as the blade pressed savagely against her back. He led her down the other end of the hallway and down a flight of stairs. "I'm just trying to be polite. It's dark and scary outside, something could hurt you."

She was pushed into a small cellar and thrown against the hard floor.

Tsubaki glared at him. "You're a monster," she spat.

He gave her a bitter smile. "Believe me, I know."

Then he slammed the door shut, and she was left alone in the dark.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **If you went back and reread the first chapter, would you mind telling me what you thought of it? The original version was dreadful, so hopefully it's a little better now.


	5. chapter 5

chapter 5

* * *

><p>"Damn it, Patti, why did you do that?" shouted Black*Star, slamming his fist down on the table. A large crack split the weathered surface of the wood. "Can you <em>honestly imagine <em>someone like her falling in love with tha– him?"

Patti's mouth trembled, but her eyes remained defiant. "She's our only chance," she hissed. "It's been thirteen years. Thirteen years! I had to try!"

Liz came up and put her arms around Patti. "Look, sis, I know how you feel. But it's not fair of us to inflict this curse on others either. That girl probably had a family and friends back home, and they're gonna be worried sick about her."

"No!" Patti pushed away her sister. "You're right. It's not fair!" She stood up abruptly and fled the room. They could hear her sobs echoing down the hall.

Black*Star almost looked guilty when Liz frowned at him. "Cut her some slack, 'Star. She tried her best to cope. Patti was the one who wanted to stay here at the beginning. She reckoned this whole thing was our fault for not telling him about what he was soon enough. You can't blame her for wanting an out."

He sighed, pushing back blue hair away from his face. "I'm sick of it too, but…that girl. It just doesn't feel _right, _keeping someone like her here. She's too…too…" Eloquence had never been his forte, and he struggled to find the words that conveyed the girl's shy smile, the fear in her dark eyes.

Liz would have laughed at his struggled expression if the situation hadn't been so serious. Instead, she tilted her head against Black*Star's shoulder.

"I know. You're right. She won't even last a week."

* * *

><p>Maka and Masamune spent the entire day searching.<p>

They split up Death Village to cover ground more effectively, for which Maka was grateful. Doing so distanced her from the burning accusation in the tall man's eyes – his silent reproach conveyed more than any words.

_You should have gone with her. You should have made her stay. This is your fault, this is all your fault, yourfaultyourfaultyourfault – _

"I know!" she shouted to no one in particular, earning herself strange looks from passerby. Shaking her head in frustration, Maka continued dashing along the slushy cobblestone streets toward the village square, her heart pounding against her chest.

The sun was setting rapidly. In the dying light, she could make out Masamune's tall figure sitting on the edge of a large fountain, head between his hands. He sprang to his feet as her footsteps approached, but his eyes darkened at the grim expression on her face.

They stood in silence, punctuated only by Maka's wheezing as she gasped for air. When she'd finally caught her breath, her gaze lifted slowly to meet Masamune's eyes. Shame burned in her stomach.

"I'm – I'm sorry. There's been no sign of her. Nobody in the village has seen her since she left."

Masamune's hands clenched and he jerked away, turning his back to her.

"Masamune…" Maka reached out, but he cut her off.

"Maka, I think you should go. It's getting late, and you've done enough."

_You've done enough damage_. He refused to meet her eyes.

"The sun hasn't set yet. Maybe I missed a spot, or someone's seen her since I last checked."

Masamune glanced behind him. "It hasn't set yet, but it will soon. It's not safe to be out so late after dark." He gave her a small, bitter smile. "Something could happen to you too."

He meant it kindly, but the words still stung. She nodded once and walked away stiffly, leaving him standing at the fountain with his head bowed. Her feet trudged their way up the street as she began the long walk back home.

Guilt was a curious thing. She found herself shuffling carelessly through the fallen leaves and snapping twigs and branches. Making noise in the woods was never a good idea, even in broad daylight, but it was as though her feet had taken on a mind of their own. Some small, absurd part of her wondered if she could sacrifice herself to the woods for Tsubaki's safe return.

It wasn't long before the warm glow of her cottage greeted her from a distance. Wearily she approached, but then halted in her tracks.

Maka never left candles burning when she left her home after one unfortunate incident two years prior that had resulted in the casualties of her kitchen and several beloved books. The light from inside meant that someone had entered while she was away, and there was only one other person who knew where she hid the spare key.

Relief spread through her limbs as she dashed forward, bursting through the door. "Tsubaki! I've been so worried about – "

"Hello, Maka." The figure sitting on her bed looked up and her stomach dropped like a stone.

Asura laughed at the crushed expression on her face and stretched himself out languidly, his dirty boots leaving dark smudges on her worn quilt. He yawned. "I've been waiting forever for you to get back, you know. Don't suppose you could put on a pot of tea?"

Maka snarled. She marched forward, snatching up her trusty broomstick as she leaned as close to Asura's face as she could bear. "_Leave,_" she hissed. "Or you'll regret it."

Rust colored eyes snapped up to meet her green ones. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said, his upper lip curling into a lazy smirk.

Something in his gaze made her step back a little. She'd been too furious at his unwelcome presence to notice it earlier, but there was something different about Asura now. She couldn't quite place it. He looked the same, and he'd always boasted a massive ego, but there was a new quality of self-assurance, an unknown secret that played in the sly curve of his lips and lurked in his eyes.

Uneasiness crawled over her skin and she instinctively took another step back. Seeing this, Asura sneered and sat up, slamming his feet down on the ground and spattering mud everywhere.

"You seem a little upset, Maka. Could it be that you've heard about the scary witch who's been spotted in town? It really would be an awful shame if that girl you were looking for ran into her." He tipped his head back to the ceiling and tapped one long, skeletal finger against his chin. "What was your friend's name again?" His gaze dropped back down to meet hers and a cruel smile stretched his chapped lips across an uneven row of yellow teeth. "Ah, that's right. _Tsubaki_."

Cold fear clashed with hot fury as Maka tossed aside the broom clutched in her hand and seized a fistful of Asura's shirt. "What do you know about Tsubaki? Tell me, you worm," she said, her voice shaking.

He laughed, a convulsion of breathy screeches that set her hair on end. She slapped him hard across his left cheek, and Asura swiveled his head to face her, ever so slowly. The look in his eyes was murderous.

"You shouldn't have done that." He stood up abruptly. Maka stumbled back, lost her balance, and fell on the floor. A pale hand clamped around her wrist and hauled her up roughly so that they were nose to nose. "You _really _shouldn't have done that." His moist breath blew across her face and she retched at the sour odor.

Maka yanked her arm away and he unexpectedly let her go. The brutal expression melted away, replaced by a deceptively cheerful smile that was equally as horrific. "But since you asked so nicely, I'll give you a hint."

From the depths of his layered rags, Asura withdrew a flat object. Maka squinted and saw that it was an ornate hand mirror, an oval of polished glass set into a gilded brass frame.

She eyed it suspiciously, rubbing her wrist where his long fingers had left red marks. "What is that supposed to be?"

"Patience, darling," he chided. Asura breathed on the face of the glass, misting the surface. With his index finger, he traced '42-42-564' on the mirror.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then, to Maka's disbelief, the fog on the mirror began swirling rapidly until it dissipated to reveal the familiar image of a tall girl with long black hair. She lay unmoving in what looked like a stone cellar.

Maka's throat contracted. "Tsubaki!" she cried, lurching toward the mirror. Asura stepped deftly out of her way and held it above his head, frustratingly away from her clutches.

"Not so fast," he said. "If you want to help your friend, you're going to have to do a little something for me in exchange."

"Anything," she said desperately. It was her fault that Tsubaki was now held captive in the depths of some unknown chamber, and Maka was willing to pay whatever price it took to save her.

Asura leered. "Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me," he repeated. "Be my wife. Cook my meals, wash the dishes, clean the house. Bear my children," he added with a nasty smile.

Maka sneered. "You're pathetic, you know that?" She crossed her arms and glared at him with loathing. "Fine. I'll be your damn wife. Just give me the mirror."

"Ah, ah, ah." Shaking his head, Asura slipped the mirror back into his pockets and instead pulled out a small vial and scroll of paper. A small, black spider with an odd circular marking on its back scuttled around inside the jar. He unfurled the scroll to reveal a series of strange runes inked onto the paper. "Just a bit of insurance, if you will. I'm sure you'd never lie to me, but one can never be too safe, you know."

Before she could blink, Asura lunged forward and grabbed her wrist again, forcing her palm open. Uncorking the vial with his teeth, he upended the glass onto her palm. The frantic spider tumbled out and bit her thumb. Maka screamed and lurched away; the spider fell onto the floor and she crushed it beneath her foot.

Asura blinked. "Feisty," he said. "Now, if you'd be so kind." He motioned towards the scroll.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Maka, nursing her thumb. The vicious little thing had managed to draw blood from her skin. She took savage pleasure in knowing that it was now a smear on the heel of her boot.

"It's a blood oath. Just a little something to ensure that you keep your promise. If you don't, there might be some nasty repercussions, like – oh, I don't know – death," he said with a wink.

Maka hesitated. Blood oaths were rare and powerful, hinging on the genuine consent of the one signing it. There was always the chance that Asura was bluffing, but it was too risky to try and call it if the blood oath was real.

"How do I know this isn't some trick?" she asked.

"See for yourself."

To her surprise, he passed her the mirror. She breathed the glass as he had done and drew '42-42-564' on the surface.

"Show me Medusa," she commanded. Maka was fairly certain Asura had never been inside the bookstore, if he even knew what a bookstore was, much less knew about Medusa. But the hazy glass shimmered and the wisps faded to show the blond woman sipping from a mug of tea. Maka watched as Medusa looked up from the book she was reading, as though she could sense someone watching her.

"Believe me now?"

Maka wrenched her gaze from the mirror. Marriage was a small price to pay if she could save Tsubaki.

"Give me the oath," she said. He handed it to her with a smirk. She unfurled it and swiped her bloodied thumb across the ink. The runes shone briefly and seemed to absorb the red smudge she'd left behind.

Asura snatched up the scroll. "It is done."

"Happy now?" asked Maka, whirling on him. "I want you out of my house, now that you've had your laugh."

He held up his hands, smiling at her patronizingly. "I'm going, I'm going," he said, backing away. "But don't forget about our little deal." He waved the scroll at her face. "I'd hate to be made a widower so soon."

Maka slammed the door in his laughing face.

With a sigh, she slumped down against the door and held the mirror up again, tracing numbers on the surface. "Show me Tsubaki," she whispered. "Where is she?"

The mirror gleamed again to show her friend slumped against a stone floor. A dark liquid trickled down her face from an unseen injury hidden by her hair and she lay alarmingly still on the ground. The image wavered slightly and contorted into a small castle, decrepit with age and neglect.

There was no time to waste. Maka would have liked to run back to the Nakatsukasa's residence and inform Masamune of what she'd discovered, but it would take too long and Tsubaki appeared to be in critical condition. Nor did she want to bring the weapon's older brother with her, lest something happen to him as well. She imagined having to explain to the Nakatsukasas that her carelessness had resulted in the deaths of both of their children and fought down the surge of phantom guilt that rose within her.

Jumping to her feet, Maka grabbed the cloak hanging from the hook on the wall and pulled it over her shoulders. She blew out all of the candles and shut the door to her cottage carefully behind her.

It had begun to snow outside. Fat white flakes drifted down in lazy spirals, and already a thin blanket of powdery white dusted the ground and trees. The sky was dark, but she could see a thin sliver of the laughing moon through the thick clouds.

Maka glanced at the mirror in her hands, doubt creeping into her mind. Could the mirror show her the path to the mansion?

As though it could sense her thoughts, the mirror grew warm and the surface flickered. For a brief moment, it looked as though she were looking through an empty frame, for the glass had turned completely transparent. Then a ribbon of pale yellow light appeared, winding its way between the trees. Maka inhaled sharply and she suddenly recalled the first time she'd met Tsubaki. The primrose color of the gently pulsing orb she'd seen in her friend was the same color of the wisp of light. The pathway of light in the woods disappeared when she set down the mirror, but reappeared again when she held it up to peer through the frame.

She wondered briefly where Asura had gotten his hands on such a powerful object, but the thought was quickly pushed aside as she followed the dim glow, checking the mirror every so often to make sure she was on the right path.

The wind picked up as she journeyed, driving the now heavily falling snow against her chapped face. Maka plowed on relentlessly, pausing only to wipe clean the surface of the mirror. She had long lost any feeling in her fingers, and her cloak and boots were completely soaked, leaving her shivering under the heavy, wet cloth.

The trees loomed around her, trapping most of the light from the moon. She stumbled through the dark, tripping over branches and the piling snow. The howling wind at least hid her noises and scent from the beasts in the woods, though if they had any sense, they'd be holed up safely in their caves from the weather.

Maka rubbed her numb fingers over the mirror. She frowned, and swiped at the glass again. The light had disappeared, and she realized that she'd reached the end of the path. Maka glanced up and squinted. She was standing at the edge of the woods, and through the dark, she could barely make out the towering stone structure not too far away. She took a step out of the woods into the clearing toward it but the moment she set her foot down, a shock pulsated through her body. Maka crumpled to the cold ground, clutching her chest in pain.

It was as though she'd crossed an invisible barrier between the woods and the castle. Something wretched lurked ahead, and its very essence had soaked into the land itself. She recognized it as insanity. Pure madness. Her heart twisted and a wave of nausea surged up. She could sense a tainted soul, barely even human. Maka longed to go back into the safety of the woods, but she knew Tsubaki was trapped inside with whatever creature skulked behind the walls.

With her resolve steeled, she pushed herself off the ground on shaking legs and pushed through a sweeping garden overgrown with weeds and shrubbery. The stone pathway winding up to the house was almost completely buried beneath the snow, but she managed to follow it to a large set of wooden doors gilded with rusted iron, splintered from weather and rot.

Standing directly in front of the entrance, the festering aura of the castle threatened to choke her. It wasn't too late to turn around and return the next day with Masamune when the sun was out, when she wasn't so cold and miserable and alone. _Not too late_, a voice in her mind whispered.

Maka lifted a foot and kicked open the doors.

The ensuing thud resounded in the spacious foyer. She stepped forward cautiously and the doors slammed shut behind her. Maka whipped around to see a girl standing by them, a flickering candle highlighting the gaunt shadows of her face. Short blonde hair framed her face, and she seemed to be around Maka's age.

"Who are you?" asked Maka, eying the girl warily.

"That doesn't matter," the girl replied. "Are you here for your friend?"

Maka clenched her fists. "Yes." She swallowed. "And I'll do anything to get her back." Though the words sounded ridiculous coming out of her mouth, the false bravado helped clear her mind.

The girl laughed, dry and humorless. "That won't be necessary. I can take you to her, if you like." She began to walk down a hall and Maka hurried to catch up.

The single flame from the candle provided scant light. She couldn't see what lay ahead in the vast halls and chambers, only the dark silhouette of the girl in front of her. Despite the squelching noises made by her dripping shoes, Maka tried her best to stay as quiet as possible, though the other girl seemed to have no such reservations. At one point, the girl kicked over a large vase and it shattered against the marble floor. Maka flinched, but the girl just walked ahead as though nothing had happened.

"What is this place?" whispered Maka.

The girl looked back. "Haven't you heard the legend?" she replied loudly.

Maka wished that the she'd keep her voice down. It was almost as though she wanted to draw attention.

"No," said Maka. "What legend?"

"The say that the ghost of a pianist haunts this place, luring unsuspecting travelers in with his music right before he kills them."

Maka wanted to scoff, but the legend struck a chord in her memory.

_Whatever is in your forest is far worse than any witch or demon. It has scared away all other enemies._

She shuddered. "So what are you doing here?"

The girl stopped walking abruptly and Maka almost walked into her back. She turned, facing Maka with cold, blue eyes. "That's the big question, isn't it?" She gestured down the dark hallway stretching ahead of them. "Turn right at the end and you'll arrive at the cellar steps. Your friend should be there."

"Thanks," said Maka uneasily, edging past. As she walked ahead into the dark, Maka could feel the girl's gaze burning into the back of her neck, long after she'd left the feeble light of the candle behind.

It was nearly pitch black at the end of the hall, but she could see a pale blue light from the bottom of the stairs. She hurried down the steps, arriving at stone vestibule leading to the cellar. A shaft of moonlight spilled into the room from a window cut high into the wall, providing some illumination. A door made of iron bars blocked her path, though she could see into the cellar through the gaps between the bars. Her gaze fell onto the still form collapsed in the corner on a burlap sack.

"Tsubaki," she whispered. Then, louder, "Tsubaki!"

Maka's heart thudded against her ribcage, but then to her great relief, Tsubaki stirred and lifted her head wearily. "Maka? Is that you?" Wincing, she crawled over to the door and stretched her hand out through the bars.

Maka clasped Tsubaki's hand tightly, holding her it to her cheek. "Are you okay? What happened to your head?"

Tsubaki gingerly touched the crusted blood by her hairline. "Don't worry, it looks worse than it actually is."

"I'm going to get you out of here," said Maka. She made to pick the lock that chained the door shut, but Tsubaki stopped her.

"No, Maka, you mustn't! You have to get out of here now!" Tsubaki was deathly pale and her normally calm blue eyes were large with terror. Maka had never seen her friend so scared.

"Who's done this to you?"

But Tsubaki pulled away from Maka, shaking her head. "There's no time to explain, you must leave now and save yourself before he comes back."

"You think I'd just leave you here alone? Don't be – "

"Maka!" Tsubaki's cry of alarm barely reached her ears before a dark figure seized Maka by the shoulder and pinned her against the wall.

"Two in one night? Aren't I the lucky prince?" purred a deep voice.

Maka went still. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet a set of searing red eyes that burned straight her own. She found herself unable to move, frozen by that awful crimson stare.

This man was dangerous. It was too dark to truly make out his appearance, but the dark gleam of his eyes and the glint of white teeth bared in a cruel smile screamed insanity.

_Haven't you heard the legend?_

Tsubaki's voice cut through tension. "Let her go," she pleaded. "She's done nothing wrong!"

The man turned around and Maka slumped, gasping for air. He faced Tsubaki. "Didn't I tell you that I don't like it when people sneak around behind my back?" All of a sudden, he reached through the iron bars and grabbed Tsubaki's chin, dragging her face close to his. "What should I do with your friend, then, hmm?" His right arm shimmered and flashed into a sweeping scythe blade, red with a jagged stripe of black.

Tsubaki's sharp cry of pain snapped Maka's attention to reality. Anger boiled over, pushing out any fear she felt. This monster had terrorized and kidnapped her best friend, and that was unforgivable.

Maka rushed over, slamming the man to the side and away from Tsubaki. "Leave her alone!" she shouted.

"Maka, no!" cried her friend. "You don't know what he's capable of. He _killed his own brother._"

An awful noise came from the man, and it took Maka a minute to realize that he was laughing, harsh and wild. His body shook violently as he wheezed for breath. "Yeah, that's right. Slaughtered him with my bare hands when I was only eight."

But his words, intended to scare, only served to strengthen Maka's determination. He would not lay another finger on Tsubaki; she could not leave her friend alone with this demon.

"Take me instead."

The laughter cut off abruptly. "What?"

"You heard me." Maka lifted her chin, her green eyes staring evenly into the dark. "Let my friend go, and I'll stay here without any resistance."

She sensed rather than saw the man pause, considering her words. "You would do that for her?" He gave another short bark of laughter. "You really don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Maka, you can't do this – "

"Come into the light," said Maka to the man in an icy voice, and Tsubaki fell silent. This was not the Maka that loved reading and fell asleep with her fingers curled around the pages of books worn with love. This was the Maka that had been abandoned by her father and mother and had raised herself in a lonely cottage on the outskirts of the village.

Another dull shimmer, and the blade that melded smoothly into flesh morphed back into the man's right arm. He stepped into the thin shaft of light that streamed from the window and Maka's breath hitched in her chest.

The pale moonlight spilled over him, soaking into a mess of bone-white hair and washing it silver. A white shirt hung loose on his lean frame, and he slouched with the lazy grace of a feline, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark pants. Eyes the color of rich wine burned from an aristocratic face, sharp cheekbones and full lips.

He was wild and terrible. Beautiful, Maka realized, and ruined. If she focused, shifting her perception, she could see the soft azure of his soul. It writhed, horribly disfigured and corrupted, entangled in a thick web of black that all but choked the sweet blue color.

"You're dying, aren't you?" she asked quietly.

He tilted his head to the side and regarded her moodily.

"What a strange thing to say," he said. "You're an odd one." Something shifted in his expression, and he walked over to the iron door, removing his right hand from the pocket to slip a small key into the lock. "I know you're there, Patti. Stop skulking around and get this girl out of my sight."

The girl that had led Maka through the halls stepped out from the shadows behind them and Maka watched as she cautiously side-stepped the man, opening the door and hauling out Tsubaki.

"No, Maka, I won't let you do this! I won't let you sacrifice yourself like this. There must be some other way!" Tears spilled down Tsubaki's cheeks as she fought against Patti, but she was weak from imprisonment and couldn't risk a fight lest Maka get injured.

"Tsubaki." Maka turned and knelt down beside her best friend. "There's nothing left for me back home, anyway. You still have to look after Masamune, make sure he's okay. He's worried sick."

Tsubaki looked at her, eyes dark with pain. "I'll see you again," she promised.

"It's going to be okay." Maka hesitated. "I love you. Don't worry about me."

"Soul…" The girl holding Tsubaki spoke up, and Maka was surprised to see that her expression was stricken. Blue eyes met red ones, and an unspoken conversation passed between them before the man twisted his head away sharply.

"Go, Patti!" he snarled, and the girl's eyes widened in fright. She turned and began dragging Tsubaki up the steps, while the latter struggled against her grasp. The sounds of scuffling and Tsubaki's pleading faded away into the distance, leaving Maka alone with the man.

The girl had called him Soul. Maka couldn't think of a more ironic name. She collapsed onto the floor as the enormity of her situation crushed down on her. Tears she hadn't even realized she'd been suppressing seeped from between her eyelids and splashed onto the stones, staining them a dark, chalky grey.

Soul surveyed her impassively. "Well, then, I'll show you to your room, shall I?"

Maka looked up, blinking tears from her eyes. "My room?"

"What, you want to stay here?" he asked, lifting a pale eyebrow.

"Well...no," she said.

He began walking past her and up the steps; Maka pulled herself to her feet and followed him from a distance. Arched windows cloaked in heavy red drapes lined the halls and unlit crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. They walked in tense silence up a broad, sweeping staircase that split into two smaller ones, winding towards the east and west wings respectively.

Soul took the east staircase and they passed a series of chambers before stopping in front of an ornately carved oak door at the end of the hall.

"This is your room," he said over his shoulder. "You can go anywhere you like, except for the west wing."

"What's in the west wing?"

His shoulders tensed. "It's forbidden. Don't even think about going there."

Slow resentment seeped in her stomach, now that her initial shock had died down. Just because she was his prisoner didn't mean that she had to lie down like a dog and obey his every order. She hadn't, _couldn't_, forget the look of fear on Tsubaki's face, nor the evil twisting the man's soul.

Maka clenched her fists. "And what happens if I decide that I don't give a damn about your rules?"

He whirled on her, his expression furious. Maka took a few involuntary steps back and hit the wall, her palms pressed against the smooth wood. He was so close to her that she had to crane her head back just to hold his gaze.

"Then I'll kill you," he said simply, his voice cold and dead.

She spit in his face. "Why don't you just kill me now and get it over with?" she hissed. "Should be easy for a _murderer_ like you."

To her surprise, he flinched and stumbled back instead of slicing her throat on the spot. Maka immediately sprang away, eying him warily. She tensed when he lifted a hand, but he just wiped his cheek and slipped his hand back into his pocket, observing her through narrowed eyes.

"Forbidden," he repeated. He turned and walked away, and Maka followed him with her eyes until he melted into the darkness.

She turned with a sigh and turned the handle of the door, stepping into the room. A large four-poster bed faced an empty fireplace on the opposite wall. Maka flung off her damp cloak onto one of the two plush armchairs and kicked off her boots, shuffling her feet through the thick rug in the center of the room and crossing to the paneled window. Drawing back the heavy brocade, she peered outside the window, allowing the moonlight to filter in.

It had stopped snowing, and the clouds had cleared to let the moon shine forth. The gardens blanketed in snow sprawled out across the grounds and beyond them, the woods. Somewhere past them was Death Village. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes, her fingers trailing against the windowpane.

A sharp knock on the door caused her to lift her head.

"Come in," she said wearily. Best to get whatever it was out of the way.

The door opened and Maka was surprised to see that it was not Soul at the door, but a stocky young man with bright blue hair and an armful of firewood.

"Came to start up a fire," he said with a grin, nodding towards the fireplace. "It's always freezing here and you look kinda miserable."

"Thanks," said Maka, surprised. It hadn't really occurred to her that there were others living in the castle as well.

He struck the flint and sparks flew into the kindling of the fireplace. He blew on them gently, coaxing a flame from the ashes, and added the firewood. The cheerful glow of the fire filled the room, bathing everything in a warm gold. "You can call me Black*Star, by the way," he said.

"Maka."

"Maka, huh? That's a good name." Black*Star stood up from the fireplace and dusted his hands off. "Heard about what you did for your friend."

Maka walked over to the bed and perched on the edge, staring at her hands. "She would've done the same for me."

"I bet," said Black*Star. "She seemed like that kind of girl."

Maka looked up and Black*Star flushed, rubbing his neck. "I, uh, tried to get her out of here, you know," he said. "Didn't want her to stay, but she looked so cold and scared, and a great guy like me couldn't just abandon someone who needed shelter. I'm sorry for getting you both involved."

"It's not your fault," said Maka, pressing her knuckles against her thighs. "It's _his _fault."

Black*Star frowned and he sat beside her on the bed. "Soul's really not that bad."

"Not that bad?" she asked incredulously. "He threatened to kill me and my friend, he's trapped me in this place until I die of old age, and he killed his brother. Tell me," she said, her voice rising in pitch, "how could anyone murder their sibling and then _laugh_ about it? And when I'm near him, there's just…there's something wrong about him. He's not normal."

Black*Star's eyebrows drew together. "It wasn't his fault. We grew up together, you know. He - he had a rough childhood."

"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly grow up like a princess myself," she snapped back.

He looked at her seriously, running his hands through his electric blue hair. "Will anything I say change your mind?"

Maka flopped back on the bed, glaring up at the canopy above her. "Try me."

"How much do you know about the weapon gene, Maka?"

She looked over at Black*Star curiously. "Tsubaki is a weapon. She has multiple forms. I know some people can do a partial transformation, like that monster. " She glared at the doorway. "But it's not a very common gene, is it?"

Black*Star shook his head. "No, it isn't. Do you know how Tsubaki found out about her weapon form?"

Maka shrugged. "She's from the Nakatsukasa family – the weapon gene is prominent in their line. They all expected her to have some kind of weapon form, so they threw her a big party when she first changed into a weapon form. I think her first one was a shuriken, but I don't know how she found out."

Black*Star looked at her seriously. "The weapon gene manifests itself at an early age," he said. "The change is usually sudden and unexpected, and can happen at any moment. Partial transformers won't usually have a full transformation the first time. So you could be sleeping and your arm could suddenly change into a blade. Or you could be climbing a tree, or swimming, or – " Black*Star grimaced in frustration.

He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, as though something was preventing him from speaking. Eventually, he just swore angrily while Maka looked on in confusion. Then she remembered the terror on Tsubaki's face and her heart hardened. "Still doesn't change the fact that he's completely evil and insane now."

"Insane, yes. Eleven years of guilt will do that to you. And," he said, turning to her with an odd smile that made her lean slightly away from him, "you'll find that we're all a bit mad here, except maybe Kid. But evil…he's not evil, not yet, at least."

Black*Star got up from the bed and turned to go. At least he'd tried – the snake constricting his vocal chords wouldn't allow him to tell her anymore. Before he left, he glanced back at Maka.

"Just think about what I said, okay?"

She sat in stony silence, eyes trained on the ground. Black*Star sighed and shut the door behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Surprise, surprise! Happy New Year, everyone. Sorry for being horrible about updating, I am the worst.

A word regarding Patti and Black*Star: I realize they're a bit different from their usual portrayals, but hear me out. Patti comes off as standoffish, but she'd do anything for Kid and Liz. If breaking the curse means throwing a few random girls to the wolves (aka Soul), then so be it. And I've always thought people didn't give Black*Star enough credit. The kid is dumb, yes, but not stupid. Factor in the circumstances of this setting plus his age, and he's a bit more of a serious character than we're used to.

Also, reviews would be lovely! I've been kinda out of the Soul Eater loop for a while, so I'm curious to see what people think about Soul so far. Hopefully this isn't all completely OOC.

Missed you guys lots :)


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